"It is a strange coast," Hamel admitted.

Mr. Fentolin pointed with his forefinger northwards.

"Somewhere about there," he indicated, "is the entrance to the
tidal river which flows up to the village of St. David's yonder.
You see?"

His finger traced its course until it came to a certain point near
the beach, where a tall black pillar stood, surmounted by a globe.

"I have had a light fixed there for the benefit or the fishermen,"
he said, "a light which I work from my own dynamo. Between where
we are sitting now and there--only a little way out to sea--is a
jagged cluster of cruel rocks. You can see them if you care to swim
out in calm weather. Fishermen who tried to come in by night were
often trapped there and, in a rough sea, drowned. That is why I
had that pillar of light built. On stormy nights it shows the exact
entrance to the water causeway."

"Very kind of you indeed," Hamel remarked, "very benevolent."

Mr. Fentolin sighed.

"So few people have any real feeling for sailors," he continued.
"The fishermen around here are certainly rather a casual class. Do
you know that there is scarcely one of them who can swim? There
isn't one of them who isn't too lazy to learn even the simplest
stroke. My brother used to say--dear Gerald--that it served them
right if they were drowned. I have never been able to feel like