'Weasels for weather-prophets for me arter this,' grunted Chippy; and Dick nodded his head.
'It was my Uncle Jim who told me that about the weasels,' said Dick. 'He said they're always very active before stormy weather.'
'Just about fits it this time, anyway,' remarked the Raven. The mention of Mr. Elliott brought to mind their chums in Bardon.
'I wonder how our patrols are getting on without us, Chippy?' said Dick.
'Oh, it'll gie the corporals a chance to try their 'ands at leadin',' returned the Raven. 'I wish they could just see us now. They'd gie their skins to jine us.'
'Rather,' laughed Dick; 'this is just about all right.'
It is possible that some persons might not have agreed with him, and at one o'clock in the morning might have preferred their beds to squatting on a heap of brushwood under the shelter of a blanket, the hissing fire making the only cheery spot in the blackness of the cloud- and rain-wrapped moorland. But the scouts would not have changed their situation for quarters in Buckingham Palace. There was the real touch about this. It seemed almost as romantic as a bivouac on a battlefield.
'Well, s'pose we try for a bit more sleep,' said the prudent Raven; 'long march to-morrer, yer know.'
'We've got to keep the fire up,' said Dick; 'it would never do to let that out.'
'O' course not,' replied Chippy; 'we must take turns to watch. Now, who gets fust sleep—long or short?'