Pete walked on rapidly, and it was all his friends could do to keep up with him.
They kept on in this way for almost half an hour, when they came to what appeared to be a deserted stone-quarry.
Pete now turned to the left, and they skirted this quarry for some distance until they came to a little cluster of huts or shanties, most of them, like the quarry, deserted.
One or two of the shanties were set well back against a side hill, and into the largest of these Pete conducted his companions.
The place contained two good-sized rooms, one a general living-room, and the other a bedroom.
The first was empty, the other occupied, as was evident, when a woman's voice, in querulous tones, demanded to know who was there.
"It's me, Mag," answered Pete. "Don't fret yourself."
"Don't fret myself! You uneasy, restless villain; you're enough to fret a saint. What're you up to at this time o' night, anyway? Why ain't ye at home and in bed, where you ought to be?"
"I've got business to attend to, and some friends to look after; I shall stow them away inside for twenty-four hours. There's plenty of food in there, I suppose?"
"I suppose there is. If there ain't there ought to be, and that's all I know about it."