f moral support in the
adventure was certainly worthy of their confidence. He was a bold
boy--an apprentice to a ship-caulker; one of those children who have
already become men. He slept on a little straw in a shed in the
ship-caulker's yard, getting his own living, having red hair, and a loud
voice; climbing easily up walls and trees, not encumbered with
prejudices in the matter of property in the apples within his reach; a
lad who had worked in the repairing dock for vessels of war--a child of
chance, a happy orphan, born in France, no one knew exactly where; ready
to give a centime to a beggar; a mischievous fellow, but a good one at
heart; one who had talked to Parisians. At this time he was earning a
shilling a day by caulking the fishermen's boats under repair at the
Pequeries. When he felt inclined he gave himself a holiday, and went
birds'-nesting. Such was the little French boy.

The solitude of the place impressed them with a strange feeling of
dread. They felt the threatening aspect of the silent house. It was wild
and savage. The naked and deserted plateau terminated in a precipice at
a short distance from its steep incline. The sea below was quiet. There
was no wind. Not a blade of grass stirred.

The birds'-nesters advanced by slow steps, the French boy at their head,
and looking towards the house.

One of them, afterwards relating the story, or as much of it as had
remained in his head, added, "It did not speak."

They came nearer, holding their breath, as one might approach a savage
animal.

They had climbed the hill at the side of the house which descended to
seaward towards a little isthmus of rocks almost inaccessible. Thus they
had come pretty near to the building; but they saw only the southern
side, which was all walled up. They did not dare to approach by the
other side, where the terrible windows were.

They grew bolder, however; the caulker's apprentice whispered, "Let's
veer to larboard. That's the handsome side. Let's have a look at the
black windows."

The little band accordingly "veered to larboard," and came round to the
other side of the house.

The two windows were lighted up.

The boys took to their heels.

When they had got to some distance, the French boy, however, returned.

"Hillo!" said he, "the lights have vanished."

The light at the windows had, indeed, disappeared. The outline of the
building was seen as sharply defined as if stamped out with a punch
against the