Mary led Meg, David, and the galloping dogs over the grassy little hills and dunes behind the cliffs. They tramped in the same direction for quite a while, during which Mary never left off talking. She named the birds that soared overhead and the flowers at their feet—such as Crane’s Bill and Mountain Avens (or maybe it was Heavens, Meg wasn’t sure).
“David, would you keep the dogs out of the dunes please?” Mary asked, motioning to the wind-blown mounds. “The kittiwakes are nesting in them now.”
She chirps, just like a little bird, but she’s used to getting her way. She’s bird-like, small and light, but with a tough core—you wouldn’t want to cross her. Meg couldn’t stop looking at her.
When they reached a crossroads, Mary walked up to the cliff’s edge and pointed to Portstewart, then hu
