“Well, let’s get your Nat’s ferret, and try for a rabbit.”
“He would not lend it to us.”
“Let’s go down on the shore, and collect shells for your Lil.”
“She has more than she wants now.”
“Well, let’s do something. I vote we go down and hunt out the way into that passage. We can do that without getting our heads full of slate.”
Scarlett acceded readily, the more so that ever since their adventure in the passage, the place had had a peculiar fascination for both lads. They often stopped in the middle of some pursuit to talk about the curious idea of making a door to be entered by lying down, and contriving it out of a stair. Then there were the ingenious peculiarities of the old passage, and the strange gloom of the oak chamber, and the dark vault, with its heap of old arms, which they regretted not to have brought out to try and restore to something like their former condition.
For, in spite of previous failure, the idea of discovering the second entrance to that passage was often suggesting itself to the lads; and, in consequence, they began to haunt the edge of the lake, feeling sure that some day or another accident would direct them to the very spot they had searched for so long.
Scarlett insisted that they would find the opening right down in the water, while, on the other hand, Fred maintained the opposite.
“Nobody would be such a noodle as to build his back-door right down in the water,” he said, “unless he meant the place for a bath. No; we shall find that doorway out in the wood somewhere, you mark my words, Scar. I dare say, if we were to take billhooks and cut and hack away the branches, we should find it soon enough.”
Scarlett shook his head, but joined in the search, one which, in spite of their peering about, proved to be in vain, and, after being well scratched by brambles and briars, Scarlett had his own way again, and they began to hunt the shore.