If you had approached Plemont from Vinchelez-le-Haut, making for the sea,
you would have said that it also had no habitation. But when at last you
came to a hillock near Plemont point, looking to find nothing but sky and
sea and distant islands, suddenly at your very feet you saw a small stone
dwelling. Its door faced the west, looking towards the Isles of Guernsey
and Sark. Fronting the north was a window like an eye, ever watching the
tireless Paternosters. To the east was another tiny window like a deep
loop-hole or embrasure set towards the Dirouilles and the Ecrehos.

The hut had but one room, of moderate size, with a vast chimney. Between
the chimney and the western wall was a veille, which was both lounge and
bed. The eastern side was given over to a few well-polished kitchen
utensils, a churn, and a bread-trough. The floor was of mother earth
alone, but a strip of handmade carpet was laid down before the fireplace,
and there was another at the opposite end. There were also a table, a
spinning-wheel, and a shelf of books.

It was not the hut of a fisherman, though upon the wall opposite the
books there hung fishing-tackle, nets, and cords, while outside, on
staples driven in the jutting chimney, were some lobster-pots. Upon two
shelves were arranged a carpenter's and a cooper's tools, polished and in
good order. And yet you would have said that neither a cooper nor a
carpenter kept them in use. Everywhere there were signs of man's
handicraft as well as of woman's work, but upon all was the touch of a
woman. Moreover, apart from the tools there was no sign of a man's
presence in the hut. There was no coat hanging behind the door, no
sabots for the fields or oilskins for the sands, no pipe laid upon a
ledge, no fisherman's needle holding a calendar to the wall. Whatever
was the trade of the occupant, the tastes were above those of the
ordinary dweller in the land. That was to be seen in a print of