“Hold on. Don’t you try them games, mate, for you was never cut out for the work. He thinks that’s a joke, Mr Lane, sir. But do you want your jyntes rubbed a bit?”
“No, no, I shall be better directly,” cried Oliver. “Oh, yes, I can walk. Only a bit stiff. Where are the others?”
“Coming through that bit o’ wood, sir, where it’s all thorns and fish-hooks. Mr Rimmer’s there and your two messmates.”
“But how did you get through the mist?”
“We didn’t, sir. We got a boat down to the shore, launched her and rowed doo north for a bit, and then landed and come along hunting for yer. Why, that there mist goes right down the shore and out to sea, where you can smell it as it comes bubbling up through the water.”
“But how did you get a boat down?” cried Oliver. “It must be a good two miles.”
“Nay, sir, seemed to us like a bad four mile,” grumbled Wriggs.
“Yah! not it, Billy. Oh, we did it, sir. Took the littlest, and the carpenter made a couple o’ runners for it out of a spare yard, and so long as we picked our way she come along beautiful. Yer see we meant to do it, and o’ course we did it, and here we are.”
“Ahoy!” yelled Wriggs again, and an answer was heard from close at hand, as Panton suddenly came into sight.
“Found him?” he shouted, but he caught sight of his companion at the same moment, and rushed, out of breath and streaming with perspiration, to catch Lane’s hands; his lips moved as he tried to speak, but not a word would come.