Rory was quite lively again ere he reached the words—
“And we’ll tak’ a richt good-willy waught
For auld lang syne.”
He burst out laughing. “Indeed, indeed! there is no wonder I laugh,” he said; “fancy the notion of taking a ‘good-willy waught’ in a place like this! And now,” he added, “for a bit of a sketch.”
“Don’t be long in nibbing it in, then.”
Rory was seated on a boulder now, tracing on his page the outlines of those strange, weird pillars that hands of man had never raised nor human eyes gazed upon before. So the silence once more became irksome, and the time seemed long to Ralph, but Rory had finished at last.
Then the two companions, after journeying on somewhat farther, began to awaken the echoes by various shouts; and voices, some coming from a long distance, repeated clearly the last words.
“Let us frighten those ghouls down there by rolling down boulders,” said Rory.
“Come on, then,” said Ralph; “I’ve often played at that game.”
They had ten minutes of this work. It was evident this hill within a hill, this crater’s point, was of depth illimitable from the distant hissing noises which the broken boulders finally emitted.
“It’s a regular whispering gallery,” said Rory.