“Quite right; they could not,” said the Colonel, thoughtfully. “And you were drawn up from there, and right over the top of the cliff?”
“Yes, father.”
“Horribly dangerous, boy—hideous. There, your mother knows something about it, but she must never be shown how frightful a risk you ran. Come, let’s get back.”
Gwyn only caught one fish that evening, and his father was very thoughtful and quiet when they returned.
“Here, Gwyn,” he said next morning; “come along with me, I want to have a look at the old pit-shaft, and the bit of cliff over which you were drawn.”
“Yes, father,” said Gwyn, and he led the way over their own ground; but before they reached the dwarf mine wall, he was conscious of the fact that they were observed; for, at the turn of the lane, Hardock’s oilskin cap could be seen as if the man were watching there, and the next moment Joe Jollivet’s straw hat was visible by his side.
Gwyn felt disposed to point out that they were not alone; but the next moment his father began talking about the slow progress made by the belt of pines he had planted between there and the house, so as to take off something of the barrenness of the place.
“Want of shelter, Gwyn,” he said; “the great winds from the west catch them too much. I’m afraid they will always be stunted. Still, they would hide the mine buildings.”
“The mine buildings, father?” said the boy, looking at his father inquiringly.
“Yes; I mean if I were to be tempted into doing anything of the kind—opening the mine again. Seems a pity, if it does contain wealth, to let it lie there useless. Money’s money, my boy.”