“Hurrah!” cried the boys in chorus; and they all came out into the front.
“What’s the matter, Shanter?” cried Rifle, as the black suddenly threw back his head, dilated his nostrils, and began to sniff.
“Mine smell,” he cried.
“What can you smell?”
The black was silent for a few moments, standing with his eyes closely shut, and giving three or four long sniffs, twitching his face so comically, that the boys laughed.
“Muttons,” said the black, decisively. “Mumkull sheep fellow. Big fire where? Hah!”
He had been staring about him now as he spoke, and suddenly fixed his eyes on the low bushes down by the waterfall, and pointed to a faint blue curl of smoke just rising above the trees, and which might have been taken for mist.
“I can smell it now,” cried Tim. “It’s like burning wool.”
“Mumkull sheep fellow. Roace plenty mutton.”
“Oh yes, one of our sheep,” cried Norman, fiercely.