The place had an odd name--Nannizabuloe.

"And it is lonely," said Humility, "the most of it sea-sand, so far
as I can hear."

It was by the sea, then. How would they get there?

"Oh, Joby's van will take us most of the way."

Of all the vans which came and went in the Fore Street, none could
compare for romance with Joby's. People called it the Wreck Ashore;
but its real name, "Vital Spark, J. Job, Proprietor," was painted on
its orange-coloured sides in letters of vivid blue, a blue not often
seen except on ship's boats. It disappeared every Tuesday and
Saturday over the hill and into a mysterious country, from which it
emerged on Mondays and Fridays with a fine flavour of the sea renewed
upon it and upon Joby. No other driver wore a blue guernsey, or
rings in his ears, as Joby did. No other van had the same mode of
progressing down the street in a series of short tacks, or brought
such a crust of brine on its panes, or such a mixture of mud and fine
sand on its wheels, or mingled scraps of dry sea-weed with the straw
on its floor.

"Will there be ships?" Taffy asked.

"I dare say we shall see a few, out in the distance. It's a poor,
outlandish place. It hasn't even a proper church."

"If there's no church, father can get into a boat and preach; just
like the Sea of Galilee, you know."