Chapter 1: A Rescue.


Most of the towns standing on our seacoast have suffered a radical
change in the course of the last century. Railways, and the fashion of
summer holiday making, have transformed them altogether, and great
towns have sprung up where fishing villages once stood. There are a few
places, however, which seem to have been passed by, by the crowd. The
number yearly becomes smaller, as the iron roads throw out fresh
branches. With the advent of these comes the speculative builder. Rows
of terraces and shops are run up, promenades are made, bathing machines
and brass bands become familiar objects, and in a few years the
original character of the place altogether disappears.

Sidmouth, for a long time, was passed by, by the world of holiday
makers. East and west of her, great changes took place, and many far
smaller villages became fashionable seaside watering places. The
railway, which passed by some twelve miles away, carried its tens of
thousands westward, but left few of them for Sidmouth, and anyone who
visited the pretty little place, fifteen years back, would have seen it
almost as it stood when our story opens a century ago.

There are few places in England with a fairer site. It lies embosomed
in the hills, which rise sharply on either side of it, while behind
stretches a rich, undulating country, thickly dotted with orchards and
snug homesteads, with lanes bright with wildflowers and ferns, with
high hedges and trees meeting overhead. The cold breezes, which render
so bare of interest the walks round the great majority of our seaside
towns, pass harmlessly over the valley of the Sid, where the vegetation