“Just remembered,” said its bearer. “Got half way home first, though. Mother said I was to be sure and take back that basket. Put the stuff out on the sail. Hullo, what you been doing to your hands?”
Archy started guiltily, and looked at them in the light to see that they were covered with blood, from injuries that he had made unconsciously in toiling with his knife against the stones.
“Tumbled down?” continued Ram without waiting for an answer. “Well, ’tis dark ’mong these stones. I used to trip over them, but I could go anywhere now in the dark. Seem to feel like when they are near. Never mind, tear up yer hankychy and wrap round. I’ll bring you one o’ mine next time I come. There we are. Haven’t forgot the basket this time. I say?”
“Well?”
The lad was ten yards away now, holding the lanthorn above his head.
“You lost a chance.”
“What do you mean?”
“Jemmy Dadd isn’t up by the door. You might have given me a topper with a stone, and run away; too late now.”
He ran off laughing, and holding the lanthorn down low to make sure of his way.
But Archy did not start up in pursuit. He saw a better way out now, and waiting till he felt convinced that the boy must be well on his way home, he jumped up, felt his way to the crevice, and was soon after hard at work picking the mortar from between the stones.