The smuggler kept his word, a low farewell shout coming from on high, and echoing in whispers right along the gap.
“Good-night or good morning!” he cried, and then he was gone.
“I couldn’t have got up there even in daylight, Tom,” said Aleck.
“Nor me nayther, sir. Might ha’ done it once upon a time, but wooden legs arn’t the best kind o’ gear for rock-climbing, sir, any more than they are for manning the yards aboard ship; and that’s why I was pensioned-off.”
“Yes, Tom; but what about you to-night?”
“Me, sir? I’m a-going to kiver mysen up with the sail and snooze away in the bottom of the boat.”
“Very well; and I’ll bring you something to eat as soon as I get in.”
“Thankye, sir; that’s about the right sort for me, as I didn’t make much of a business over that there bread and cheese; and here we are!”
“Make her fast, Tom,” cried Aleck, springing out. “I want to go and explain to uncle. I wonder what he’ll say,” the lad continued, to himself, as he hurried up the slope. “He can’t be so very cross when he knows all.”
There was a candle burning in the kitchen window, evidently placed there to light the wanderer on his return up the gloomy depression; and, after glancing up at his uncle’s room, to see that all was dark there, the lad made for the kitchen door.