“Grotesque idiot,” said Kenrick, laughing; “cease this weak, washy, everlasting flood of twaddle, and tell us whether you’ll come or no.”
“Him sternly eyeing, addressed in reply the mighty Henderides,
Heavy with tea, with the eyes of a dog, and the heart of a reindeer!
What word has escaped thee, the barrier of thy teeth?
Contrary to right, not according to right, hast thou spoken.”
“For goodness’ sake shut up before you’ve driven us stark raving mad,” said Walter, putting his hand over Henderson’s lips. “Now, yes or no; will you come?”
“Thee will I accompany—” said Henderson, struggling to get clear of Walter, “to many-fountained Appenfell—”
“Hurrah! that’ll do. We have got an answer out of you at last; and now go on spouting the whole Iliad if you like.”
Full of spirits they started after breakfast the next morning, and as they climbed higher and higher up the steep mountainside, the keen air exhilarated them, and showed, as through a crystal glass, the exceeding glory of the hills flung on every side around them, and the broad living sparkle of the sea caught here and there in glimpses between the nearer peaks. Walter, Henderson, and Kenrick, were in front, while at some distance behind them, Power helped on Daubeny, who soon showed signs of fatigue.
“Look at that pappy fellow, Evson,” said Daubeny, sighing; “how he is bounding along in front. How active he is.”
“You seem out of spirits,” said Power kindly; “what’s the matter?”
“Oh, nothing. A little tired, that’s all.”
“You’re surely not fretting about having lost the head place.”