“No. If that had been true old Big would have been bouncing about it at school, and told us that story, as he always does everything he knows, nine hundred thousand times, till we were all tired of hearing it.”
“But I’d forgotten all about it till just now,” pleaded Bigley.
“Ah, well,” said Bob, who was sitting on the big stone swinging his legs to and fro, “I don’t believe it, and if I did, what then?”
“Why, I thought,” said Bigley eagerly, “if we were to put some powder under that stone, and make a train, and strew some wet powder on a piece of rag—”
“And light it, and make it fizzle, and then run away,” cried Bob, mimicking Bigley’s speech.
“Yes,” cried the latter eagerly, “it would topple it over right down into the glen.”
“There’s an old stupid for you,” said Bob, looking at me. Then turning to Bigley he said sharply, “Why, I haven’t got my pockets full of powder, have I?”
“N–no,” stammered Bigley, who was taken aback by his fierce way.
“And powder don’t grow in the furze pops, does it?”
“N–no,” faltered Bigley; “but—”