“Mighty!” said Harry. “It’s got its nest there, I do believe.”
By-and-by the mother bird showed herself, and the fact was virtually settled. Then there was nothing for it but to climb the well and see. Harry accomplished it somehow, when the village was at dinner and the beach deserted. He got up, claw and toe (the well inclined a little outwards from the land), and availing himself of every hole and projection reached the top and sprawled over the edge, so that I could see nothing but his legs waving in the air. The birds shot out, and wheeled screaming about him. I heard him utter a cry; and then he emerged and descended with a very blank face, coming down the last yard or two with a run. His hands were barked and bloody, and the right one smeared with an orange slime.
“There was one egg,” he said, “white and a whopper; but it just broke to pieces when I clawed it.”
It was a pity we had not left it alone, for, as it turned out, the bird was a rarity on our coasts, and, laying as it does only a single egg, would not likely outstay so cruel a welcome. Which, indeed, proved to be the case; and the only reward we got for our venture was the knowledge that the well was choked with sand to near its top, a discovery which dissipated for ever some long-cherished dreams of ours as to the ineffable secrets it would reveal if once surmounted and looked down into.
During all this time, I am afraid, I neglected Uncle Jenico a good deal. He was so sweet and kind, he made no complaint, but only rejoiced that I had found a companion more suited than he to my years.
“He’s a fine boy, Richard,” he would say; “a fine promising boy. And if he reconciles you to staying here——”
“Do you want to leave Dunberry, uncle?”
Then he would look at me wistfully.
“I, my dear? No, no; I am content, if you are. We are doing wonderfully well. It’s a place of really extraordinary possibilities. Do you know, Richard, I shouldn’t be surprised if it turned out to be our promised land, after all. The extent of coast to be explored makes it a little tiring sometimes, but that’s a trifle. We can’t expect to find all Tom Tiddler’s ground in an acre or so, can we?”
That should have been a jog to my conscience; but youth, I fear, is selfish. A dull day’s hunt with Uncle Jenico through the shingle had come to show very blank by contrast with the exciting adventures contrived by Harry and me. So I kept my deaf side to the calls of duty, and Uncle Jenico pursued his hobby alone.