“Of course they are, sir,” cried his father. “Have they not been baking in this hot sunshine? There, sit down and finish your dinner. Mountains don’t break out into eruption without giving some warning.”
“But this must have been quite lately, sir,” said Cyril, to turn the colonel’s fire.
“Geologically lately, my lad,” he said, picking up and examining a stone, “but not in our time, nor our grandfathers’. In all probability these stones came crumbling down some hundreds of years ago.”
“Then you think there is no fear of another eruption, father?”
“If I did think there was, do you think I should be sitting here so calmly?” replied the colonel.
Perry had nothing to say to this, and he soon after became interested in a conversation which took place between Cyril and the guide, waiting impatiently until it was at an end.
“What does he say?” asked Perry, as Cyril turned away.
“That as soon as we’ve passed this rough place there’s another path, like the one we’ve come by, and he wants to know if your father means to risk it.”
Perry felt a shrinking sensation, but he said nothing, knowing how determined his father was when he had set his mind upon a thing.
“I told him we were going, of course. But, I say, Perry,” whispered Cyril, “how far does he mean to go?”