“That’s what your father said. He would have it that you had gone down a hole to see what made the mountain burn, and couldn’t get out.”
“If you wouldn’t mind, Mr Mark, sir, I’d like to shake hands,” said Small, “afore I punch Billy Widgeon’s head.”
“It wasn’t his fault, Small,” cried Mark, shaking hands heartily with the boatswain before turning to the captain.
“Was my mother very much frightened, father?”
“I hope not, my lad.”
“Hope not! What! haven’t you been back to camp?”
“Not likely, my boy. We found you did not come back so we went off from the mud-stream path to the right and searched for you till we could not see, and have fired off half our ammunition for signals.”
“But we went off to the left, father,” said Mark.
“And so we got farther and farther apart, so no wonder we did not find you.”
“Did you shout?”