Gwyn went off, met Joe, and they made for a favourite place on the cliff where they could look down on the sea and the sailing gulls to have a chat about their late adventure, this being their first meeting since they were carried home from the mine.
“You’re all right, aren’t you, Ydoll?” said Joe.
“Never felt better in my life, only I don’t feel as if I could sit still here. Let’s go to the mine.”
“To go down? No, thank you—not to-day.”
“Who wants to go down. I mean to have a talk to Sam and the men. I want to hear more about it. Oh, I say, though, it’s too bad to have left old Grip chained up. Let’s go and fetch him and, after we’ve been to the mine, give him a good run over the down and along the cliff.”
“Yes,” said Joe, quietly; and Gwyn led the way back toward the house by the cove.
“That dog ought to have a golden collar,” said Gwyn. “No; I tell you what—he shall have one made of the first tin that is smelted.”
“Too soft; it would bend,” said Joe.
“Very well, then, we’ll have some copper put with it to make it hard, and turn it to bronze.”
“What’s the good? Dogs don’t want ornaments. He’d be a deal happier with his old leather strap.”