Here they spread their cloth, laying large pebbles on the corners of it to keep it down, and on it they spread their feast, and then at last there was nothing left to do but sit down and enjoy it.  The sun shone quite warmly, a soft little breeze blew up from the valley, bringing with it the mingled scents of peat smoke, crushed thyme, and wet moss.  From their high perch they looked down on long stretches of brown fields ploughed in ridges, with here and there a big gray rock dropped into the middle of it, and here and there a roughly-built cottage, not much bigger, seemingly, than some of the rocks.  In a distant field a man was carrying mangolds to a flock of sheep.  The bleating of the sheep floated up to them through the still air, and, with the voices of the birds, made the only sounds of life that reached them.  The scene, though lovely in the eyes of the children, was desolate to a degree.  Scarcely a tree marked the landscape, and those there were were bowed and stunted, leaning landwards as though running before the cold winds which blew with such force across the few miles of flat, bare country which alone lay between them and the Atlantic Ocean.

To-day, though, it was hard to believe that that sunny spot was often so bleak and storm-swept that man and beast avoided it.  Anna gazed about her wonderingly, but somewhat awed.

“It seems dreadfully wild and lonely,” she said, with a shiver.  “And how flat and ugly it is, all but these tors.  I wonder how they came to be here like this.  I should think the people who used to live here must have piled up all these rocks to clear them out of the fields.  They left a good many behind, though.”

“No one could have lifted rocks like these, and piled them up like this,” said Dan scornfully.  “They were thrown up like this by an earthquake, father says, and after the earthquake the sea—­you know the sea used to cover all the country as far as we can see—­”

“Nonsense!” interrupted Anna.  “Now you are trying to take me in; but you won’t make me believe such nonsense as that.”

“Very well,” crossly, “don’t believe it then; only don’t ask questions another time if you mean to turn round and sneer when a fellow tries to explain.  I suppose you won’t believe either that giants used to live here?”

Anna laughed even more scornfully.  “No, I will not,” she said loftily.  “I am not quite stupid enough to believe all the nonsense you would like to make me.”

“If you could only realize it, it is you who are talking nonsense,” said Dan crushingly, and he turned away from her.  He was not going to tell any of his beloved legends and stories for Anna to sneer at.  “It is simply a sign of ignorance,” he said, with his most superior air, “not to believe in things because we haven’t actually seen them with our very own eyes.  I suppose you will not believe that St. Michael’s Mount used to be surrounded with woods where there is sea now, until a huge wave rushed in and swamped everything, right up to the foot of the Mount, and never went back again?”