“Yahah!” sighed the boy slowly.
“Why, what are you doing? Yawning!” cried Uncle Paul. “You are about the sleepiest chap I ever knew. There, I am afraid I shall have to wait for to-morrow morning’s sunshine. Clear away, or help me. Let’s put everything on a side-table, and I’ll tell Mrs Champernowne that she isn’t to touch what she sees there.”
“Yes, uncle,” said the boy, with something like alacrity, as the table was cleared and the candles re-snuffed, the effect of opening and shutting the snuffers seeming to act upon Rodd and making him yawn widely, while quite involuntarily Uncle Paul did the same. “Now then,” said Uncle Paul.
“Aren’t we going to bed, uncle?” said Rodd eagerly. “Bed? Nonsense! Because we are in a country place where people like going to bed almost in the middle of the day and getting up in the middle of the night, do you think we need follow their example? Absurd! I want to talk to you about some of the wonderful things I captured to-day. The waters on the moor swarm with the most beautiful limpid specimens.”
Rodd sighed softly, and put his hand before his mouth to stop a yawn.
“Oh, by the way,” said Uncle Paul, “did you change your trousers when you went up to wash?”
“No, uncle; they didn’t want it.”
“Weren’t they damp?”
“No, uncle; I only got my shoes wet, and they were pretty well dry when I got home. Besides, you had got my other trousers in the big portmanteau in your room.”
“Well, you could have come and fetched them. Always be careful to change damp things.—Come in!”