“Oh! he must have been blown to atoms!” Will groaned.
His agony far exceeded Stephen’s on the island—in fact, the tables had been turned in an unlooked-for manner.
“Yes, we must see about him,” said Charles, with pale face and unsteady voice, a gnawing pain in the region of his heart—a sensation that is experienced only when a person is strongly moved.
Scrambling up the bank, they saw George—bruised and bleeding, but looking supremely happy—peering into a jagged hole in the ground.
“Hallo, George!” Will called out. “Are you hurt?”
“Oh, a little,” said George. “Yes,” he added, “I—I’m pretty sore.”
“We were afraid you were destroyed.”
“Well, I never thought of the stones flying about so; I only thought of the noise;” George avowed. “But,” with a self-satisfied smile, “how did you like it?”
“Like it?” said Charles. “Why, it was awful! I’d no idea that gunpowder is such strong stuff: this must have been pretty virtuous, after all!”
“Well, boys, I opened the box, and the powder was as dry as a bonfire. So I fixed things to make a noise; but I never thought the stones would shoot so—I mean, I knew it, of course; but I didn’t calculate for it. It was a fine sight, though, to see them shoot up into the air. How did it appear to you?”