“I will, sir. And try it, too,” he added under his breath, as he knotted the rope fast, seized and drew it tight, and then lowering himself into the crevice, he began to glide down rapidly, sending a tremendous shower of shale on to Fred’s head, and making him start away just as he had drawn the rope tight ready to ascend.
“Why, what are you doing?” he shouted.
“Coming down, sir,” panted Samson; and the next minute he was on the broad shelf in company with nearly enough disintegrated rock to bury the skeleton of the sheep.
“Well, ’pon my word, young gentlemen,” cried the gardener, “you’ve got rum sort of ideas. Wouldn’t no other place please you for a game but this?”
“We wanted to explore it,” exclaimed Fred; “to see if there’s a way down to the shore.”
“Well, you can hear there is, lads. But why didn’t you bring a lanthorn?”
“I wish we had.”
“Wish again,” said Samson, with a chuckle.
“What for?”
“Because then you’ll get one,” said the gardener, laughing.