'And I suppose you tried the strawberries—just to see if they were ripe.'
'No, I didn't, but I will now.' And coming to Wych Hazel's side he proceeded to help her carefully and to put a bowl of milk in suggestive proximity to her right hand; then taking a handful himself he stood up and went on talking to Mr. Falkirk.
'What is your plan of proceeding, sir?'
'I don't know,' said Mr. Falkirk. 'I am puzzled. The coach goes back to-morrow morning to the foot of the mountain; there is no object in our making such a circuit, if we could get on from here,—besides the fact that none of us want to go over the ground again; but to get on from here seems out of the question.
'It seems to me, to stay here is out of the question,' observed Rollo.
'I don't see how to help it—for one night. The only sole vehicle here is Mr. Miller's little wagon, and that will hold but two.'
'So I understand.—Those strawberries are not bad,' he said, appealing to Wych Hazel.
'A very mild form of praise, Mr. Rollo. Harmless and inoffensive—to berries. What will you do, then, Mr. Falkirk? seeing there are five of us.'
'I am in a strait. Could you spend the night here in any tolerable comfort, Wych, do you suppose?'
'I am at a loss to understand your system of arithmetic,' observed Rollo.