“Some fellows having a picnic,” said Magnus, joyfully; “keep it up, chappie, and we shall get some of the pickings—you see.”
“Give them a—what-do-you-call-it?” said Joe. Whereupon Magnus startled the air with a loud “coo-oo-ey!”
The sounds above ceased all of a sudden, and the weather seemed to change to thundery.
Then a faint echo of the shout came back, and almost immediately afterwards a gentleman appeared through the mist.
He was a young-looking man, who had apparently been bathing, and had not had time to dress after it. He wore a curious sort of cap, with a wing sticking out at either side, and carried in his hand a very elaborately carved walking-stick.
“Please, can you tell us the way down to Llanberis?” asked Magnus, thinking it better not to appear to notice the gentleman’s déshabille.
The gentleman stared at the two boys in a startled sort of way, and shrugged his shoulders.
“A foreigner,” said Joe. “Try him in—what’s-its—name—French.”
“S’il vous plait, pouvez vous dire nous le chemin à bas à Llanberis?” said Magnus, who was a capital French scholar.
It was not at all certain that the gentleman understood even this. He pointed with his thumb over his shoulder up at the clouds, which was certainly not the shortest way down to Llanberis. But as it was the direction from which the sound of the knives and forks had proceeded, it seemed as if nothing would be lost by following.