“Woa!”
“But it isn’t half full,” I cried.
“No, my lad. If it was,” said Ike, “our horse couldn’t pull it. That stuff’s twice as heavy as stones. There, stick in your shovels, and now be off. Don’t go far. You ought with that dog to find us a rabbit for dinner.”
Shock’s eyes flashed, and he looked quite pleased, forgetting to turn his back, and seeming disposed for once to be friendly, as, with Juno at our heels, we started up the sandy bottom on an expedition that proved one of the most adventurous of our lives.
Chapter Twenty Eight.
Lost!
Purple heath, golden gorse, and tufts of broom. Tall pines with branches like steps to tempt you to climb. Regular precipices after climbing above the sand-pit, from which you could jump into the soft sand, and then slide and roll down to the bottom. Once I jumped upon a little promontory high above the slope, and it gave way, and I slid down on about a ton of matted root and earth and sand.
Then we climbed to the sand-martins’ nests, and slipped down or rolled down, and climbed again, and along ledges, and thrust in our arms, but nesting was over for the year, and the swift little birds made their nurseries beyond our reach, for we did not find the bottom of one single hole.