There was no answer, for Ned did not hear, from the simple fact that he had suddenly plunged his head right under water, to hold it there for nearly a minute, before raising it streaming.
“Oh, Chris,” he cried, “do that; it’s lovely!”
His comrade wanted no more inciting to follow the example set, keeping his head below the surface in despite of the water thundering in his ears, till he was obliged to raise it and breathe.
“If we only had time for a swim,” he cried, as he stood up panting once more.
“Yes, let’s have one.”
“No,” said Chris; “the barrels—we must fill them and get back.”
“Yes, of course,” cried Ned. “I can’t think properly yet. My head’s all muddly. But how can we fill them? If we take them off can we lift them on the mule’s back again?”
“Perhaps not,” cried Chris. “But I know,” he added, after a pause.
“Do you? Oh, my head’s so muddly. Let’s be quick and get back. I’m beginning to think now. Why, what wretches we are, drinking away here, and my father must be dying of thirst.”
“Yes. Don’t talk,” cried Chris huskily. “Here, get to the other side of the mule and take hold of the bit.”