CHAPTER FIVE.
Shackle was quite right; the fog did begin to gather over the sea soon after sundown, and the depressing weather seemed to have a curious effect on Farmer Shackle, who kept getting up from his supper to go and look out through the open door, and come back smiling and rubbing his hands.
Mrs Shackle was very quiet and grave-looking and silent for a time, but at last she ventured a question.
"Did you see her at sundown ?" "Ay, my lass.

'Bout eight mile out." "But the cutter ?" "Well, what about the cutter ?" "Will it be safe ?" "Safe?
Tchah! I know what I'm 'bout." That being so, Mrs Shackle made no remark, but went on cutting chunks of bread and butter for her son, to which the boy added pieces of cold salt pork, and then turned himself into a mill which went on slowly grinding up material for the making of a man, this raw material being duly manipulated by nature, and apportioned by her for the future making of the human mill.
"Now, Ram," said his father, "ready ?" "Yes, father," said the boy, after getting his mouth into talking trim.
"Lanthorns! Off with you." "Lanthorns won't be no good in the fog." "Don't you be so mighty clever," growled Shackle.

"How do you know that the fog reaches up far ?" "Did you signal s'afternoon, father ?" "Lanthorns! And look sharp, sir." The boy went into the back kitchen, took down from a shelf three horn-lanthorns, which had the peculiarity of being painted black save in one narrow part.

Into these he glanced to see that they were all fitted with thick candles before passing a piece of rope through the rings at the top.
This done he took down a much smaller lanthorn, painted black all round, lit the candle within, and, taking this one in his hand, he hung the others over his shoulder, and prepared to start.
"Mind and don't you slip over the cliff, Ram," said his mother.
"Tchah! Don't scare the boy with that nonsense," said the farmer angrily; "why should he want to slip over the cliff?
Put 'em well back, boy.

Stop 'bout half an hour, and then come down." Ram nodded and went off whistling down along the hollow for some hundred yards toward the sea, and then, turning short off to the right, he began to climb a zigzag path which led higher and higher and more and more away to his left till it skirted the cliff, and he was climbing slowly up through the fog.
The lad's task was robbed of the appearance of peril by the darkness; but the danger never occurred to Ram, who had been up these cliff-paths too often for his pleasure to heed the breakneck nature of the rough sheep-track up and up the face of the cliff, leading to where it became a steep slope, which ran in and on some four hundred feet, forming one of the highest points in the neighbourhood.
"It's plaguey dark," said Ram to himself.