This last was on receiving a great piece of Aunt Georgie’s freshly-made bread, which kept him busily occupied for some little time.
All were on the qui vive, feeling cheered and hopeful, now that their armour had had its first proving, the weak spot found and remedied; for, though others were contemplated for the future, the great kitchen chimney, built exactly on the principle of that in an old English farmhouse, was the only one in the slowly growing home.
An hour passed, and another, with several false alarms—now the crack of some dry board in the side of the house, now a noise made by some one moving in the room, or the creaking of one of the fences outside—everything sounding strange and loud in the stillness of the night; and as the time wore on, and no fresh attack came, the boys’ hopes rose higher, and they turned to the black as the best authority on the manners and customs of the natives.
“They must be gone now, Shanter,” Rifle said at last, after two or three dampings from that black sage. “It’s over two hours since we have heard them: all gone along, eh?”
Shanter grunted.
“I shall ask father to let me go out and reconnoitre.”
“Mine no pidney,” said the black.
“Get out of one of the windows and go and look round.”
“What for go along? Plenty damper—plenty water.”
“To see if the black fellows have gone.”