“Don’t know; don’t care!” was the reply.
“We’d better get away, hadn’t we?”
“No-o-oo! We must stop. I wouldn’t be away on any account.”
“But then he’ll know we did it, and get in a rage.”
“Pst! Be quiet.”
Will hurriedly led the way till they reached a clump of bushes where they could squat down with a good view of the sleeper, who remained perfectly still.
Josh looked up at the umbrella, which looked as if the oak tree had bloomed out into one huge white flower. Pointing up with one hand, he covered his face with the other to stifle a laugh, and Will uttered a warning.
“Hist!”
Just at that moment, heard above the murmur of the machinery in the mill, and the wash and splash of the water, there arose the peculiar strident buzz of a large bluebottle, busily on the lookout for a suitable spot on which to lay eggs.
Evidently it scented the artist, and began darting to and fro over his open mouth.