Fortune favoured Will, for after a climb round by the narrow alley he let his companion in by the little top gate into the rough terrace garden on the steep slope of the cliff—a quaint little place full of rocks and patches of rich earth, and narrowed stony paths, but one blaze of bright colour, and full of promise of fruit.
“Why, how comical!” said Dick. “We’re higher than the roof of your house!”
“Yes; it’s all so steep here,” replied Will. “Oh! here’s uncle.”
He turned down a narrow path, where, pipe in mouth, and emitting puffs of smoke, the old gentleman was busy with some strips of matting tying up the heavy blossoms of carnations to some neatly cut sticks. So intent was he upon his occupation that the two lads stood gazing at him for a few minutes before he rose up, emitting a long puff of smoke, and turned round to nod shortly at Will, and stare severely at the new-comer in a stolid manner peculiarly his own.
“What cheer?” he said slowly.
“Uncle, this is a young gentleman just come down from town.”
“To Peter Churchtown, eh?” said the old gentleman, pulling down his buff waistcoat with the brass crown-and-anchor buttons, and passing one hand over his chin to make sure whether his grey beard did not look stubbly.
“Yes, sir; my father has come down on mining business,” said the lad eagerly, “and we’re going to stay.”
“Glad to see you, sir, glad to see you,” said the old gentleman, holding out an enormous gnarled hand, whose back was covered with great veins, and faintly showed through its ruddy-brown a blue tattooed figure of a mermaid.
“He’s going fishing with Josh and me this evening; we’re going to lay the bolter from the boat.”