“We’re coming,” shouted Rob. “That you, Mal? Where’s Evan?”
“Here I am. What shall we do, fellows?”
“Blessed if I know,” answered Rob, pushing his cap away from his damp forehead and scowling. “We haven’t even a stick.”
“Much good a stick would do,” said Malcolm. “Come on, anyhow, and let’s do something. Shout again, Jelly!”
“Over here, you—you fools!” came Jelly’s voice from nearer at hand. “He’s trying to eat the coffee-pot!”
“Hope it chokes him,” muttered Rob as they hurried along.
“There he is!” whispered Evan, seizing Malcolm’s arm. But it was only a peaceable cow which trotted away at sight of them. Then, dimly in the fog ahead of them, they descried a small misshapen apple tree and a moving object beneath. They halted.
“Is he still there, Jelly?” asked Rob softly.
“Of course he is! Can’t you see him? Aren’t you going to do anything?”