With Martyn, rubrical or extra-rubrical observances were the
outlet of the exuberance of youth, as chivalry and romance had been
to us; and on Frank Fordyce's visits, it was delightful to find that
he too was in the full swing of these ideas and habits, partly from
his own convictions, partly from his parish needs, and partly
carried along by curates fresh from Oxford.
In the first of his summer vacations Martyn joined a reading party,
with a tutor of the same calibre, and assured them that if they took
up their quarters in a farmhouse not many miles by the map from
Beachharbour, they would have access to unlimited services, with the
extraordinary luxury of a surpliced choir, and intercourse with
congenial spirits, which to him meant the Fordyces.
On arriving, however, the bay proved to be so rocky and dangerous
that there was no boating across it, as he had confidently expected.
The farm depended on a market town in the opposite direction, and
though the lights of Beachharbour could be seen at night, there was
no way thither except by a six-miles walk along a cliff path, with a
considerable detour in order to reach a bridge and cross the rapid
river which was an element of danger in the bay, on the north side
of the promontory which sheltered the harbour to the south.
So when Martyn started as pioneer on the morning before the others
arrived, he descended into Beachharbour later than he intended, but
still he was in time to meet Anne Fordyce, a tall, bright-faced girl
of fourteen, taking her after-lessons turn on the parade with a
governess, who looked amazed as the two met, holding out both hands
to one another, with eager joy and welcome.
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