The Spanish Chest | Page 8

especially to Estelle,
who also found Mrs. Thayne charming.
"Aren't we in luck, little sister?" she confided to Edith. "Even our
wildest expectations couldn't have pictured anything more pleasant than
this. If they only stop the winter! But where are you going now?"
"On the sands with the others," said Edith happily. "Fran asked me. The
boys have gone ahead to the end of the terrace."
Win was singing softly to himself as he stood looking down upon the
sandy beach that stretched for miles towards St. Helier's at the left, and
on the right, though showing more warm red granite rocks, to Noirmont
Point. "Britannia needs no bulwarks, no towers along the steeps," he

hummed just above his breath.
"There's a tower right in front of you," commented Roger, between the
throwing of two stones.
Win cast a glance at the deserted castle of St. Aubin's, a miniature
Castle Elizabeth on its isolated rock off shore, another at the martello
tower on the point.
"I was talking to a man about those little towers," he remarked. "One
can be rented for a pound a year, and there are thirty-two of them
around the island. But they didn't amount to much when it came to
actual fighting. The rocks and tides are what makes Jersey safe. That's
what I meant by this place needing no bulwarks."
"One of those martello towers would make a fine wireless station,"
commented Roger. "Why did they build them if they aren't any use?"
"They thought they were going to be," replied Win, looking to see
whether the girls were coming. "About two centuries ago there was a
battle down in the Mediterranean that was decided by the possession of
one of those little towers, so England built a good many. But they
weren't much use after all."
"I never knew that before," said Edith, as she and Frances joined the
boys.
"England wasn't the only nation that was taken in by them," Win went
on. "Italy has a number on her southern coast. For a long time people
supposed they were called martello towers from the man who built
them, but I found in a book that the name came from a vine that grew
over this one in Corsica. Before many moons pass I'm going to get into
one of them. Smugglers must have used them and there may be things
left behind."
Frances cast a glance at the tower in question. At first inspection it
looked like a stony mushroom sprouting from the rocks. Some distance
above the base opened a rough entrance and a low parapet encircled the

top. To scramble over the exposed rocks to the base of this especial
tower appeared a hard climb, to say nothing of the difficulties of
ascending. The feat looked beyond Win's accomplishment but Frances
said nothing. To argue with Win about whether he could or ought to
attempt anything was never wise. Left to himself he would stop within
the bounds of prudence but resented solicitude from others.
"Well, where are we going?" she asked.
"Let's take the train into St. Helier's," suggested Win. "We've scarcely
seen the town."
Edith looked doubtful. "I ought to ask Sister," she said. "Star thought
we were just going on the sands."
"And so we are," replied Roger. "We're taking a train that runs on the
sands," he mimicked in a teasing, boyish way. "Why don't you call it a
beach?"
"Because it is sands," retorted Edith with a pretty flash of spirit that
Roger already delighted to arouse. "The tram-line is far beyond the
shingle."
[Illustration: "FOR A LONG TIME PEOPLE SUPPOSED THEY
WERE CALLED MARTELLO TOWERS FROM THE MAN WHO
BUILT THEM."]
"Shingle!" gasped Roger, staring in that direction. "I don't see any."
"The pebbles, cobbles, beyond the sands," explained Edith.
"Oh, excuse me," chuckled Roger. "I thought they were plain stones.
Didn't see anything particularly wooden about them."
Edith looked at him. A few days had made her feel very well
acquainted with these friendly young people, but Roger was often
surprising.
"Oh, cut it short, Roger," drawled Win. "Run back, will you, and tell

Mother that we want to go into town. She won't care and I don't believe
Miss Estelle will either, but we ought to mention it. Hustle, because I
think that train is coming."
Roger obligingly bolted back, received a nod of possible
comprehension from a mother very much absorbed in an important
letter, and arrived just as the others boarded the steam tram, a funny
affair with a kind of balcony along one side where people who
preferred the air could stay instead of going inside. Edith and Frances
exchanged smiles of happiness.
"I haven't been to St. Helier's often," Edith confided. "Just to market
once with Nurse, and once to choose