“They’ve got the ladder up just below us, if you can manage to get down so far.”
Arthur began to move his stiff limbs one by one, by way of judging what he could do.
Dig, meanwhile, shouted down that he was safe up, and Arthur was all right.
“Not time for another try at the owls,” said the latter, getting one foot up and trying to rise.
“Owls be hanged,” said Dig, helping his friend gingerly to his feet.
“I feel like a poker,” said Arthur. “Shouldn’t care to run a mile just now.”
“Nobody wants you to. What you’ve got to do is to dig hold of the ivy with your hands and let yourself down. I’ll go first and take care of your feet.”
“Awfully brickish of you, Dig,” said Arthur. “I’m sorry I’m such a lout. I feel as if my joints want oiling.”
“Come on,” said Dig.
The descent was slow, and for poor Arthur painful; but, thanks to the ivy and Dig’s steady steering, it was in due time accomplished safely, and the top of the ladder reached.