“I may tell the colonel, I suppose?” said Samson, with a laugh to himself.
“No, no, no!” cried Fred; but the words were not heard, for Samson had set off down the hill at a trot.
“I say, what a pair of stupids we are,” said Fred, after trying two or three times over to find out whether Samson was still there.
“Don’t talk,” replied Scarlett. “Let’s listen for his coming back.”
“But he must be half an hour, at least; and we know we are all right now. I say, Scar, I’ve a good mind to go down lower, and see if there’s a way to the sea.”
“No, you will not,” said Scarlett, rather gruffly. “Let’s sit down and think.”
“It’s too dark to think,” cried Fred, petulantly. “I wonder how this place came. Think it was made by the hill cracking, or by the sea washing it out?”
“I don’t know. But shall we come again, and bring a lanthorn?”
“Yes, and regularly examine the place. We will some day. I wonder whether we’re the first people who ever came down into it? I mean,” said Fred, “the first people who were not sheep. Here, hi! Scar! what are you thinking about?”
“I was thinking what a hiding-place it would make for anybody who did not want to be found.”