“I dare say his father’s got him hoeing carrots or something. We shan’t see him.”
They did not see Jemmy Carnach’s hopeful son, nor any other living being but a cow, which raised its soft eyes to gaze at them sadly, and remained looking after them till they plunged into the scrub-wood, and, once there, felt safe. Then, after their usual laborious work beneath the trees, they reached the granite wilderness, clambered in and out and over the great blocks, keeping an eye as much as they could on the ridge up to their right, in case of the Lobster being there, and finally reached the opening, jumped down through the brambles, and at once made for the spot where the lanthorn and tinder-box were stowed.
“I say, isn’t it jolly?” cried Mike eagerly. “Just like old times, getting back here again. What a while it seems!”
“Yes, it does seem a good while,” said Vince, beginning to strike a light. “I hope nothing has happened since we were here.”
“Eh?” cried Mike excitedly. “What can have happened?”
“Sea washed the place out, and taken all our kitchen and parlour things away.”
“Nonsense!” said Mike contemptuously. “Oh, it might, you know; there would have been no waves, but there might have been a high tide. There must have been tremendously high tides down there at one time, so as to have washed out those caves.”
“Ah! it’s a precious long time since they’ve been washed out, I know,” said Mike, laughing. “They don’t ever get swept out now.”
“No, but they’re kept neat, with sand on the floor,” said Vince, snapping to the door of the lanthorn and holding it up for the soft yellow light to shine upon the granite walls. “I say, Mike, don’t you think we’re a pair of old stupids to make all this fuss over a hole in the ground?”
“No: why should we be?”