“He’ll know what that means. All right,” said the boy. “Oh, mother, I feel so guilty; but he did tell me to stay and take care of you, for if I did not return he said he should know that all was right.”
“My word, young squire, you made me jump,” cried Samson, coming to the window. “Was that to siggernal the master?”
“Yes, of course.”
“I’m a-goin’ to meet him now. Too tired to come with me?”
“Oh no,” cried Nic; and the next minute he was trudging along beside the old man, leaving the house with its windows lit up and the fire shining through the open door as a welcome home to the master.
“You ought to go first, young gentleman,” said Samson, “but you won’t know the way in the dark; and as I’m going along by the sheep track, there won’t be room for you alongside me, so you’d better come behind. Keep close, for it’s dark under the green stuff and a bit awkward, but it cuts off a quarter of a mile. Come on.”
Nic followed the old man across a fenced-in enclosure,
over the fence, and then down a steep slope into a gully, where their path soon resembled silvery lacework on velvet, for they were going beneath arching ferns of the most delicate nature. Then they had to leap dark roaring water, that flashed and sparkled where the moonbeams touched a broad glassy curve before it plunged down into some dark mysterious depth.
“Pretty place this by daylight, sir,” said the old man. “Mind how you come across here. Give me your hand to steady you, for it’s pretty tidy dark.”