“Oh bother breakfast. Bother everything，” said Shasta. “I tell you I can’t move.” But the horse nuzzled at him with its nose and pawed him gently with a hoof till he had to get up. And then he looked about him and saw where they were. Behind them lay a little copse. Before them the turf， dotted with white flowers， sloped down to the brow of a cliff. Far below them， so that the sound of the breaking waves was very faint， lay the sea. Shasta had never seen it from such a height and never seen so much of it before， nor dreamed how many colours it had. On either hand the coast stretched away， headland after headland， and at the points you could see the white foam running up the rocks but making no noise because it was so far off. There were gulls flying overhead and the heat shivered on the ground； it was a blazing day. But what Shasta chiefly noticed was the air. He couldn‘t think what was missing， until at last he realizedthat there was no smell of fish in it. For of course， neither in the cottage nor among the nets， had he ever been away from that smell in his life. And this new air was so delicious， and all his old life seemed so far away， that he forgot for a moment about his bruises and his aching muscles and said： “I say， Bree， didn’t you say something about breakfast？”
