"I should feel that it was doing a mocking, boasting sort of thing toward the dead people who were all lying asleep there." "Dead," interposed Mike.
"No: father says asleep--quietly asleep, after being in pain and sickness, or being tired out from growing very old." Mike looked at him curiously, and they were both silent for a few moments, till Mike said quickly:-- "I say, though, don't it seem queer to you that we've been here all our lives, and grown as old as we are, without ever going to the top of the cliff here and looking down into the Scraw ?" "Yes, that's just what I've been thinking ever since old Joe talked to us as he did.

But I don't know that it is queer." "Well, I do," said Mike: "it's very queer." "No, it isn't.

Ever since we can remember everybody has said that you can't get there, because nobody could climb up; and then while we were little we always heard people talk almost in a whisper about it, as if it were something that oughtn't to be named; and so of course we didn't think for ourselves, and took all they said as being right.

But you know there may be whirlpools and holes and black caverns and sharp rocks, and I dare say there are regular monsters of congers down in the deep places that have never been disturbed." "And sharks." "No, I don't think there would be sharks.

They live out in the open sea more, where it's not so rough." "I say, how big have we ever seen a conger ?" "Why, that one Carnach brought in and said he'd had a terrible fight with: don't you remember ?" "Yes, I remember; he caught it on a dark thunderstormy day, and said when he hooked it first, baiting with a pilchard, it came so easy that he thought it was a little one, and swam up every time he slackened his line till he got it close to the top.