ABOUT a mile and a half off the main road between Edinburgh and Berwick, and nearly equidistant between the two towns, stood a large farmhouse known in the district a. “The Sea Wash.” It was situated in a most lonely part of the country, in a deep hollow that sloped somewhat like a section of a funnel down to the sea. In bad weather the flying spume from the angry ocean was often driven by the wind far over the farm lands, hence—no doubt, the place came to be called “Sea Wash.” It was in every way appropriate, for it was a terribly bleak spot, particularly so in winter, and the wonder was that anything grew there. At least a stranger would have wondered, but, as a matter of fact, the land for miles round, where not actually exposed to the full blasts from the German Ocean, was astonishingl
