“Town children have more advantages,” replied Nell, thinking of those empty years on Blue Bird Ridge, when no part of her seemed to grow except her body.
“Advantages, so called, are not everything, and sometimes one is better off without them. Look at that assistant of mine, brought up in a town, and coddled mentally and physically ever since he was born, the consequence of which is that he has not a scrap of originality or even initiative in his composition,” said the inspector, who had lost his official majesty of bearing under the influence of vigorous exercise, and was just simply genial and friendly.
“To me his great lack appeared to be in bodily strength, poor boy,” Nell said, in a tone of pity.
“He certainly isn’t very fit,” remarked the inspector.
Then for a few minutes no conversation was possible, for, with Nell going in front, they were speeding down a slope to a corner where the track wound with a sharp curve round a great cliff of ironstone. Tremendously valuable that cliff would be some day, for here and there on the bare precipitous sides, the ore showed in great red stains and patches.
The cutting running through this part of the valley was so narrow that the telegraph wires had been carried over the cliff, and it was upon this height that the interruption to proper transmission must have occurred.
“It will be a stiff climb,” remarked the inspector, in a dubious tone.
“We had better go up that way; the trees are thinner, and we shall not have to take off our snow-shoes so soon,” said Nell, pointing to an opening which promised a long round.
The inspector followed her without a word, and presently, after ten minutes of pretty stiff exertion, they found themselves on the top of the cliff, with the railway track far below.