The children looked at each other in horror.
“The shepherd! The red-bearded man!”
There was a fresh shower of stones and the laugh again, which sounded closer. Chryseis caught hold of her brother’s arm.
“Iason! He will get in! He will get in! Oh, what shall we do?”
“We will not let him!” cried little Nikias, running forward, “let us push this big stone right in front of the opening! Here! This one; if you push hard we can roll it down. Iason! Pavlo! Girls! Help me!”
“He is right, the little one,” said Iason, and they all pulled, and pushed and tugged as they could never have done if they had not been terribly frightened, and little by little the big rounded piece of rock was rolled in front of the entrance to the cave, and the green darkness grew darker and darker. The opening was not entirely blocked. Any of the children could have squeezed in or out, but they felt almost certain no grown man could.
“Besides, if he only puts his hand in, we will chop it off so! Like the Persians and the man with the ship,” declared Andromache, becoming vaguely historical.
“Where is your hatchet?” asked Iason. “No, I am sure he cannot get in. Now we must sit and think what to do. It does no good to cry like that!”
“I am not crying!” sobbed Nikias. “It comes by itself,” and he sniffed very hard for a few minutes.
“I expect this man is so drunk he does not know what he is doing,” continued Iason. “At the very worst we shall have to stay in here till he gets tired of waiting and goes away. We are safe in the cave.”