“Kid yourself!” remarked Wally. “Then we’ll meet back at the camp, sir?”
“Yes, I suppose so. Don’t get far off the track, Wally,” said Mr. Linton; “and take care of my daughters!” He smiled at Jean.
“I’ll keep ’em well in order, sir,” said Wally. “Observe, children, Papa has put you under my charge!” Whereat Norah tilted her nose disdainfully, and they scrambled off among the rocks.
The prohibition against getting far from the path made exploration limited—not that there was much to be gained by exploring, since one part of the hill seemed precisely the same as another. Very rarely, a lean mountain sheep appeared, to scurry off among the timber in bleating affright at the strange apparitions; but in general the scrub and the rocks were monotonously alike, and travelling, once off the sheep track, was considerably more difficult. So they made their way back to it, resolving that exploration was a mistaken ideal, and journeyed down hill cheerfully.
Wally paused when they were beginning to think that the camp must be close at hand.
“Cease your foolish persiflage!” said he, severely. “I’ve an idea.”
“Never!” said Jean, with open incredulity. “Where?”
“It’s this,” said Wally. “Somewhere in my bones it is borne in upon me that young Billy is asleep. Let’s see if we can’t take him by surprise.”
“All right,” Norah said, twinkling. “But why you should think poor old Billy is snoring at the post of Duty is more than I can say, unless you’re thinking that in similar circumstances you’d be sleeping yourself!”
“There may be something in that,” said Wally, regarding the supposition with due consideration. “If Billy has kept awake all day he’s a hero and a martyr, and I should like to crown him with a chaplet of ‘prickly Moses,’ laurel leaves being unobtainable. Anyhow, let us creep upon him, and make him think he’s attacked by sable warriors, clad principally in ferocity.”