“Nay. It’s a big split as goes up ever so far, and goes down ever so far. Chucked bits down; and they were precious long ’fore they hit bottom. There’s a place over the other side too, and I clum round to it, and it goes in and in, farther than I could stop to go. Thought I’d wait till you came home.”
“That’s right, Dummy. We will not go to-day; but start early some morning, and take a basket and bottle with us.”
“Ay, that’s the way. Water’s warm in there, I think.”
By degrees, from old acquaintance and real liking for the dull heavy lad, who looked up to him as a kind of prince, Mark dropped into telling his adventures over the ravens, while they trudged along the black passages, with Dummy leading, Mark still carrying the candle, and the lad’s huge long shadow going first of all.
The miner’s son listened without a word, drinking in the broken disconnected narrative, as if not a word ought to be lost, and when it was ended, breaking out with: “Wish I’d been there.”
“I wish you had, Dummy. But if you had been, what would you have done?”
“I d’know, Master Mark. I aren’t good out in the daylight; but I can get along on the cliffs. I’d ha’ come down to you. I should just like to ketch any one heaving stones down upon you. I wonder that young Darley didn’t kill you, though, when he’d cotched you. We should ha’ killed him, shouldn’t us, sir?”
“Don’t know, Dummy,” said the lad shortly. “Let’s talk about something else.”
Dummy was silent; and they went on and on till Mark spoke again.
“Well,” he said, “found any good bits of spar for Miss Mary?”