Jon could not see it even after he had polished his glasses, but Penny picked it out after much eye-straining. Next Fred showed them a squat little ruin with a round keep standing forlorn in the middle of the marsh; this, he told them, was the remains of another castle called Camber. And last he showed them Rye itself, standing compact on its pyramid of rock, with the westering sun glowing on its huddled roofs. A river wound round the base of the little town and made its way to the sea.

"Now you can see why these two towns were important ports," Jon said. "When the sea came up to them they would be like forts on islands. Just how far did the sea come, I wonder?"

Fred lifted his hand again and pointed.

"There's the old cliff," he said. "Runs right along there from back o' Rye to back o' Winchelsea here. There's a way to walk under old cliffs all the way"

"Come on," Penny said. "Let's go. I want to get inside Rye and see what it's like. I want to get home."

They drove slowly under the old gateway.

"Strand Gate 'tis called," Fred told them, and "Of course it is," said Penny. "It couldn't be anything else. It faces the strand."

At the bottom of the hill they turned off the road that led to the beach, crossed a canal and tore along a wide road as straight as a ruler. Just as it seemed that they were coming close to the ruin of Camber the road swung away, and Rye was before them and getting bigger every minute. They crossed the muddy-banked tidal river and just had time to see the black, tarred drying sheds in which the fishermen hang their nets, and a few boats drawn up out of the water, before finding themselves in the heart of the town.

The streets were narrow, and some that led steeply upwards were cobbled, with houses leaning precariously over the pavements. Neither Jon nor Penny had ever seen a little town like this before. Fred was concentrating on his driving and did not even attempt to answer their questions as he twisted and turned and finally crawled up a street which led to the great church which they had seen crowning Rye from the Winchelsea look-out.

Then, "Nearly home now," he grunted, and turning two more sharp corners pulled up suddenly at the end of a wider street in which grass tinged the cobble stones.

"Maybe you'd like to walk home from here," he grinned. "There she is! Swinging up for you in the sunshine," and he pointed ahead to the end of the road.