“Yes, only one,” said Will, “and it isn’t worth while to open this nasty, wet, slimy door for him.”
“Oh, but there’ll be some more,” cried Josh; “there’s plenty of time. In about an hour there’ll be as many as we can carry.”
“But we are not going to wait in this dreary hole,” said Manners. “I don’t enjoy eels when I’ve got a cold.”
“Oh, no,” cried Will; “we will go and have a bit of a walk, and come down again.”
They drew back from the eel-trap, Will leading the way, and made for a door in the huge shed, where the lantern was carefully extinguished and put on a ledge, before they stepped out into the dark night, the closing of the door behind them shutting in a good deal of the hollow roar, with its whispering echoes. That which they listened to now was more splash, rush and hurry, as the wheel turned at greater than its usual speed, and the overladen dam relieved itself of its contents.
Still there was too much noise for easy converse, and they tramped on, Will with the intention of climbing to one of the narrow paths that led in the direction of the upper stream.
They were just on a level with the top of the stone dam, when Will stopped short. The spot he had chosen for his halt was dark as pitch, for a clump of bushes overhung the way.
“What’s the matter?” said Josh, who came next.
“Be quiet,” replied Will.
“Anything wrong?” asked the artist, for they blocked his way.