“Pups can bite hard sometimes, Jemmy,” said Ram slowly; “and I shan’t have Miss Celia’s dog touched.”
“Ho! Then he’s to come here when he likes, and show everybody the way into our store, is he? Well, we shall see.”
“Yes; and you’d better go and see if they’ve gone.”
“Ah, yes, lad, I’ll go and see if they’ve gone; and we needn’t quarrel ’bout it, for it strikes me as little missus won’t come down here no more, I scared her too much.”
Jemmy burst into another hoarse fit of laughing, and went lumping off in his big sea-boots to see if Celia and her dog were well out of sight, before rejoining Ram to take the prisoner his repast.
Chapter Thirty One.
Three days passed, and the idea of losing her companion was so startling to Celia, that she made no further journey toward the cliffs, in spite of several efforts made by Grip to coax her in that direction. But on the fourth day there was so mean and unsatisfactory a dinner at the Hoze, of the paltry little rock fish caught by the labouring men, that, as Celia watched her mother partaking of the unsatisfactory fare, and thought how easily it might have been supplemented by a dish of mushrooms and a blackberry pudding, she made up her mind that the next day she would go.
“I could be very careful, and not go near any of the slopes running down to the cliff, and I could make Grip keep with me. Yes, I will go,” she said.