“The skin is off one of my heels, and I have a blister on my big toe.”
“And I’m dead beat,” said Uncle Bob, sinking down. “You’re right, Jack, we must have a rest. Let’s wait till it’s light. It will be broad day by four o’clock, and we can signal to him which way to come.”
I nestled down close to him, relieved in mind and body, and I was just thinking that though scraps of slaty stone and brashy earth were not good things for stuffing a feather-bed, they were, all the same, very comfortable for a weary person to lie upon, when I felt a hand laid upon my shoulder, and opening my eyes found the sun shining brightly and Uncle Dick looking down in my face.
“Have I been asleep?” I said confusedly.
“Four hours, Cob,” said Uncle Jack. “You lay down at two. It is now six.”
“But I dreamed something about you, Uncle Dick,” I said confusedly. “I thought you were lost.”
“Well, not exactly lost, Cob,” he said; “but I slipped over that tremendous slope up yonder, and came down with a rush, stunning myself and making a lot of bruises that are very sore. I must have come down a terrible distance, and I lay, I suppose, for a couple of hours before I could get up and try to make my way back.”
“But you are not—not broken,” I cried, now thoroughly awake and holding his hand.
“No, Cob,” he said smiling; “not broken, but starving and very faint.”
A three miles’ walk took us to where we obtained a very hearty breakfast, and here the farmer willingly drove us to the nearest station, from whence by a roundabout way we journeyed back to Arrowfield, and found the landlady in conference with Mr Tomplin, who had come to our place on receiving a message from Mrs Stephenson that we had gone down to the works and not returned, her impression being that the men had drowned us all in the dam.