Fred had cleared part of a bench for them to sit on, and while he watched the milk in the saucepan he began to talk to them about Rye. They could hardly keep pace with his stories, and he did not seem to mind how many questions they asked just as long as they were about this part of the country.

"What does 'God Save England and the Towne of Rye' mean, Fred?" Penny asked.

"It means just that, lass. Ryers have allus thought themselves a bit separate like and Ryers would know that it was one of their own who said or wrote those words. Rye didn't allus go quite the same way as the rest of England!"

Then he told them that Owlers were the Marshmen who ran the wool from the Romney Marsh sheep to boats which would run it tax-free out of England to France.

"We've got very interested in windmills since we came here, Fred, and we found one up on the hill at the back there. Does it work?"

"Yes, miss. Her works all right. She's worked for many a long year!"

"Are there any more near here?" Jon put in at the crucial moment.

"Not in Rye, but there's a rare old ruin of a place at Winchelsea in field not far from churchyard. Most people about here call that the old mill, but 'tis said, I'm told, that all would be built about the same time... Now pass me your mugs and I'll tell you about the Battle of Brookland..." and as he turned to the stove Jon looked at Penny and mouthed silently, "Told you so. Just our luck."

4. Sunday: The Mill

Jon was wakened next morning by the sound of the great church bell and footsteps on the cobbles outside. He raised himself on the pillow and looked out of his little window towards the sea. The sun was up and there came to him, across the levels, that smell of salty mist and early autumn that, afterwards, always brought back to him so vividly the first exciting days which he had spent in Rye.

Jon felt under his pillow and touched the big iron key of their upstairs room, and this reminded him of all that had happened yesterday.

It did not seem very likely that there could be any treasure - or not a big enough treasure to warrant Mr. Grandon spying upon them and hunting for it himself. That sort of thing just did not happen!

But there could be no doubt about the letter from Great-Uncle Charles. That was real enough. And the clue which they had rather luckily deciphered was surely genuine, although Jon sighed with dismay when he thought of "earthen vessels". He was rather afraid that they would have to go through all the books and letters in the box to see if there was anything there to help them.