“Yes, that’s all,” said Gwyn, shortly; and the man turned to go, with the result that Grip made a rush after him, and the man faced round and held up his boot.
“Come here, sir! Come back!” shouted Gwyn; and the dog obeyed at once, but muttering protests the while, as if not considering such an interruption justifiable.
Then all three stood watching till the man had disappeared, the dog uttering an angry whine from time to time, as if still dissatisfied.
At last the two boys, who had met now for the first time since the adventure on the ladder, turned to gaze in each other’s eyes, and ended in exchanging a short nod.
“Going up?” said Gwyn at last.
“Yes; I came on purpose, and found Grip here.”
“So did I come on purpose,” said Gwyn. “Wanted a good think. Lead on.”
Joe went to the tallest of the old stones, and began to climb—no easy task, but one to which he seemed to be accustomed; and after a little difficulty, he obtained foothold, and then, getting a hand well on either side of one of the weather-worn angles, he drew himself higher and higher, and finally perched himself on the top.
Before he was half up, Gwyn began to follow, without a thought of danger, though he did say, “Hold tight; don’t come down on my head.”
Up he went skilfully enough, but before he was at the top, Grip uttered a few sharp barks, raised his ears, became excited, and jumped at the monolith, to scramble up a few feet, drop, and, learning no wisdom from failure, scramble up again and again, and fall back.