'And I wish you likewise to find my boy, Jack; he may be at the curate's, he is studying there――that he may be a gentleman. But I want for a bit, tell him, to take him off from his studies――it is a tickle concern, tell him, and he is to go to David Nutall's and take instructions from him. Only, mind you, this. Mum as a mouse. My boy, if he is not at the curate's, will be at his lodgings. No one will think anything of your carrying a message from me to Jack――if they come to know you are staying here. But, to make sure, I will give you a pair of socks I have knitted for him. Do not be a fool――mum as a mouse. I will give you a couple of pence for the ferry.' 'Shall I go and speak to mother first?' 'No, I will make it right with her. Go at once.' Winefred started on her errand. She crossed the down, descended the furrow through which the track led to the landing-stage of the ferry on the Axmouth side of the estuary. Then she called and waved her hand to attract the attention of the boatman. Olver Dench did not hurry himself to cross and take over a single passenger, and this one whose capability of paying the toll was doubtful. He sauntered down from his cottage, looked along the road to Seaton, up towards Axmouth, saw no one, slowly launched his boat, and came over leisurely and in bad humour. He took the girl on board, but had got half across before he remarked, 'I reckon you and your mother crept into a rabbit hole for the night.' 'Captain Rattenbury has taken us in.' 'Captain Job!' Dench paused in his rowing. 'For how long?' 'Mother is going to be his housekeeper. We stay there altogether.' Olver turned blood purple. He said no more, but put the girl on shore. She stepped lustily along. She had taken her mother's box of trifles for sale, which had been left the previous evening at a house in Seaton; she crossed the shoulder of the hill that separates the Axe Valley from the ravine of Beer, a shoulder that rises to the magnificent sea-cliff that is a prominent feature in all views of Seaton. Then she descended the lane into Beer, a village of one street, shut in between steep hills, running down to a small rock-girt cove. It was a village of fishermen, but every fisherman was suspected of being a smuggler. Those in the place who did not get their living by the sea were quarrymen of the famous Beer stone. In the main and only street was a house of some pretension and antiquity, that had belonged to the Starr family; hereabouts Winefred began hawking her wares, and as she did so she asked the names of the inmates of the several cottages. After going into three or four and vending some of her goods, she entered that of David Nutall. She saw there an old man, wearing a fisherman's jersey and hat, seated by the fireside smoking, whilst a woman was ironing by the window. Two younger men lounged by the fire talking.