“Oh, no; we shall see the sunshine directly,” said Gwyn; and the two boys retraced their wet steps, soon caught sight of the light shining in, and made their way out to the platform, where they sat down in the sunshine to wipe their feet with their handkerchiefs, and then put on socks and boots, each giving his feet a stamp as he rose erect.
“Isn’t the water cold! My feet are like ice,” said Joe.
“They’ll soon get warm climbing up these ladders,” said Gwyn. “But steady! Don’t jump about; this platform doesn’t seem any too safe. I’ll ask father to have the stout rail put round. Shall I go first?”
“No; you came down first,” said Joe. “My turn now. But I say, I’d a deal rather go up and down in a bucket. What a height it seems.”
“Well, make it less,” said Gwyn. “Up with you! don’t stand looking at it. I want to be at the top.”
“So do I,” said Joe, as he stood holding on by one of the rounds of the ladder, they two and the platform looking wonderfully small on the face of that immense cliff; the platform bearing a striking resemblance to some little bracket nailed against a wall, and occupied by two sparrows.
Then, uttering a low sigh, Joe began to mount steadily, and as soon as he was a dozen feet up, Gwyn followed him.
“It doesn’t do to look upwards, does it?” said Joe, suddenly, when they had been climbing for about half-a-minute.
“Well, don’t think about it, then. And don’t talk. You want all your breath for a job like this.”
Joe was silent, and the only sounds heard were the scraping of their boots on the wooden spells, and the crying of the gulls squabbling over some wave-tossed weed far below.