Next morning, the children were so anxious to get back to the Applewoman’s home that they hardly ate any breakfast at all. Luckily for them, their parents had not yet risen. And only the old cook Elsbeth grumbled something after them about not finishing their porridge, as they sped out of the house towards the garden gate.
The town at that early hour was very quiet, with almost empty streets. Fifteen minutes of running brought them again to the door of Agnes’s hut.
This time they did not have to knock. The door swung open as they approached and the old woman, with a bonnet on her head, came out to greet them.
‘It’s a good day for the seashore,’ said she. ‘Let’s go down and hunt for shells and pebbles while the tide is out.’
‘Yes, but we won’t forget about Father, will we?’ asked Anne.
‘Oh, no,’ crooned Agnes, in a strange, sing-song voice. ‘You know, I never forget anything. Often I wish I could. Come along, youngsters.’
Silently the two children followed her down the funny, winding streets, past wharves and landing walls, till a fresh sea wind struck their faces. It set the thrill of adventure tingling through their minds. Just the sharp, clean scent of it conjured up glories of travel, voyage pictures which they had never known but which they hoped some day to see.
Soon the town was left behind entirely. And now old Mother Agnes led the way more slowly, over the loose sands of a beach.
Further yet, the shore took on a wilder look, with high cliffs, rocks and bays. And there were pools, pools that lay upon the beach like little lakes where creatures swam or crawled, crabs and shrimps and burrowing things. They seemed so easy to catch that Anne was all for stopping to gather up some shellfish. But the Applewoman seemed bent on going farther, as though she had a place in mind to reach.
At last, when they came to it, the children found it well worth their patience and the walk. Where two walls of tumbled rock stretched down from the cliffs into the sea, a piece of the beach was surrounded and cut off from the eyes of the world. It seemed like a fairies’ sea garden. Big wet boulders, patterned with barnacles and mussels, hung with curtains of kelp, stood close together in rows and squares—a little town, in fact, of tiny streets, with something new to find around each corner. Sometimes these streets of Boulder Town turned into canals, linking together more ponds and tiny lakes where gay anemones and starfish waved beneath the water.
The children, every other thought and care swept from their minds, ran or waded to and fro from place to place, each for ever calling to the other to come and see a new discovery.
So many things were to be seen, caves of mystery to be explored, coloured pebble-gems to be collected and goodness knows what besides, that it must have been nearly an hour before the youngsters suddenly remembered they had not seen Agnes since they came here.
They found her, after some hunting, on the far side of a large rock. Here the tides had scoured out a pool larger and deeper than the rest; and under the overhanging boulder no bottom could be seen to its fascinating blue-green depths. It might have been the lair of some monster of story, half-beast, half-fish.
At the side of the pool was a piece of drift-wood, a long, stout timber from some wrecked ship. This Agnes was using as a seat—and as a table also, it appeared. For on it she had spread out fruits and sandwiches and cheese, a whole picnic luncheon taken from a little box which she had brought with her.
She invited the youngsters to come and eat. And it was only after they were seated and had their mouths full of food that they found how hungry they had grown and that their weary legs were glad to rest.
And later, even after the luncheon was all gone, they sat on, well-fed and contented, watching the beauty of the sky and sea and shore change with the shifting sun. Anne had noticed a number of weeds and plants which Agnes had laid out at the end of the timber to dry. And, on asking about them, learned that they were things the Applewoman used in the making of her medicines. From medicine the conversation turned to many different matters; and the children enjoyed their long talk with this strange new friend as much as any other part of the outing.
Anne had no idea how late it was when thoughts of her father and his troubles came again to her mind. But she did remember, long afterwards, that at that point, when she turned to Agnes to speak, she found the old woman’s keen eyes had been staring at her steadily and thoughtfully. And it was the Applewoman who spoke first.
‘Did you ever listen to a shell, to hear the roaring of the sea in it?’ she asked.
‘Oh, yes,’ cried Giles, breaking in. ‘We listened to one this morning, a pink spotted one.’
‘Well, they’re very different, you know,’ said Agnes. ‘The size and the shape of them make them so. Some sing a high song and others a low; some loud and some soft. While there are yet others that are very peculiar indeed. Let me see now if I can find one and show you what I mean. If I’m lucky I might find the one.’
From where she sat the old woman, rolling back her sleeves, reached down into the deep pool at their feet. For a long time her hand moved and swayed beneath the water. Both children thought they saw her lips moving as though she were muttering something to herself.
‘What did she mean, the one?’ Anne whispered in her brother’s ear.
‘I don’t know,’ he whispered back. ‘But remember what she said: not too many questions. I’ve an idea that something queer is going to happen.’
Then both children gave a little gasp. For the heads of the two black cats had suddenly appeared, as if from nowhere, staring into the pool over the woman’s shoulders. Their big green eyes followed the movements of her arm with keen expectant interest, as it searched groping in the depths.
At last, very slowly, Agnes’s hand came to the top and in its knotted grasp was a shell. It was a beauty, and like no other the children had ever seen; the size of a large apple; green on the outside, pearly white within; plump, almost round in shape, screwed slightly at one end. It was half filled with sand. Agnes rinsed it clean and then examined it carefully. And Anne heard her whisper to herself:
‘What luck! It is the one—and not a chip on it.’
Then she looked up at the children, and that kind, wrinkly smile spread over her face, which for a while had worn an anxious, worried look.
‘But where on earth did these cats come from, Mother Agnes?’ asked Giles.
‘Oh, they just followed me out from the town, most likely,’ said the old woman. ‘Never mind them. They’re always turning up. I want you to hold this shell to your ear now and hear how it can sing you the roaring song of the sea.’
From where they were standing, hardly anything of the ocean’s surf could be seen or heard except the little murmurous rushes of flat water that from time to time ran in and out again over the shingly sands between the boulders.
Giles held the shell to his ear.
‘Do you hear anything?’ asked Agnes.
For a moment the boy was silent, listening. But soon a slow smile came over his screwed-up face.
‘Oh, my, yes!’ he murmured. ‘I hear great waves breaking on the shore, rolling, fighting up against the cliffs, tumbling and beating on the rocks. Then falling back again with a weaker, washy sound ... Now they come thundering in some more. It’s a storm ... I hear great winds screaming through trees and the rigging of ships ... And now it dies down again—Oh, my gracious!’
Giles dropped the shell upon the sand as though it had bitten him.
‘It’s hot!’ he gasped. ‘It suddenly grew hot.’
‘Don’t be afraid of it,’ said the old woman. ‘It did not get hot enough to hurt you really, did it?—And it never will.’
Without waiting for the boy to say anything more, Agnes buttoned up her cape at the throat and placed under her arm the little lunch-box which was now filled with the medicine-plants. The two cats rose and moved to her side as though they, too, were preparing to depart. Somewhat to Anne’s alarm, the Applewoman then stepped up the rocks a little way till she had gained a narrow footpath that led towards the top of the cliffs. Only one of the cats followed her. And as she stood there, about a man’s height above their heads, the children both felt that some odd change had come over her. The wind from off the sea billowed out her cape behind her and rippled along the glossy black fur of her strange companion.
‘I must leave you now, little people,’ she said slowly. ‘And it may be a long time before I see you again. Take the shell and guard it with great care from breaking. For it is very precious. And now listen, listen and remember!’ Her right hand rose slowly from her side as if to hold their attention to her words. The last of the sun suddenly disappeared into the sea and the breeze of coming twilight blew more freshly and strong. Her voice now sounded like someone chanting, a long way off, yet clear and sharp.
‘ Whoever carries the Whispering Shell to the one in greatest need of it shall make his fortune... I must be gone. Lest you should not find your way safely in the dark, one of my cats will remain to guide you home. Good luck to you! I will see you both again. Farewell.’
With rather a sad, bewildered feeling in their hearts the two watched her hobble up the footpath towards the high ground at the cliff-tops. Presently Anne gripped her brother’s arm and pointed to the other cat. It was already leading the way ahead of them down the beach. Giles picked up the shell at his feet.
And then, still too puzzled and thoughtful for talk, they both fell in behind their guide and started homewards through the twilight.