“Wait a moment,” I said.
“What for?”
“Let’s make sure there’s nobody below.”
“Oh! There’s nobody,” cried Bob; though he joined me in looking carefully down into the gorge; but there was nothing visible but a bird or two below, and a great hawk circling round and round high above us in the sunny air, as if watching to see what we were about.
“Oh! There’s no one below, and not likely to be,” cried Bob. “Now, then, my jolly sailor boys, heave ho. One—two—three, and over she goes.”
No she didn’t.
We pressed down at the lever, and Bigley heaved and grunted like an old pig grubbing up roots, but the grey mass of stone did not even move.
“Oh! You are a fellow, Big!” cried Bob, stopping to wipe his forehead. “You didn’t half shove.”
“That I did!” cried Bigley, rising up and straightening himself. “I heaved up till something went crack, and I don’t know whether it’s buttons, or stitches, or braces. Braces,” he added, after feeling himself about. “Oh! Here’s a bother, it’s torn the buckle right off!”
“Never mind the buckle, lad. Let’s send this stone over. I want to see it go; don’t you, Sep?”