They all laughed, and we went on across the dam.
“How would it go!” said Uncle Jack thoughtfully. “It is impossible to say. Probably the water would eat a little hole through the top somewhere and that would rapidly grow bigger, the water pouring through in a stream, and cutting its way down till the solidity of the wall being destroyed by the continuity being broken great masses would crumble away all at once, and the pent-up waters would rush through.”
“And if they came down and washed away our works just as we were making our fortunes, you would say I was to blame for taking such a dangerous place.”
“There, come along,” cried Uncle Bob, “don’t let’s meet troubles half-way. I want a ramble over those hills. There, Cob, now we’re safe,” he said, as we left the great dam behind. “Now, then, who’s for some lunch, eh?”
This last question was suggested by the sight of a snug little village inn, where we had a hearty meal and a rest, and then tramped off to meet with an unexpected adventure among the hills.
As soon as one gets into a hilly country the feeling that comes over one is that he ought to get up higher, and I had that sensation strongly.
But what a glorious walk it was! We left the road as soon as we could and struck right away as the crow flies for one of several tremendous hills that we saw in the distance. Under our feet was the purple heath with great patches of whortleberry, that tiny shrub that bears the little purply grey fruit. Then there was short elastic wiry grass and orange-yellow bird’s-foot trefoil. Anon we came to great patches of furze of a dwarf kind with small prickles, and of an elegant growth, the purple and yellow making the place look like some vast wild garden.
“We always seem to be climbing up,” said Uncle Dick.
“When we are not sliding down,” said Uncle Jack, laughing.
“I’ve been looking for a bit of level ground for a race,” said Uncle Bob. “My word! What a wild place it is!”