The reader may imagine the hilarity of the mischievous plebes during this. The upturned, open-mouthed faces of the unfortunate and astonished victims were enough to make a sphinx laugh for a century. At least, that was what the Parson said. The Seven were dancing about and chuckling with glee. Mark had the greatest difficulty in keeping them from breaking out into a chorus.
That seemed to be the next joke on tap. Mark whispered his instructions, nudged the others in the ribs, and waited.
“Hello up there! Hello!” roared Rogers.
And the next instant came a sound louder than a trumpet blast and so startling that it nearly knocked the big yearling over backwards.
“Hello up there! Hello-o-o!”
It was a confused medley of shouts and yells in one promiscuous chorus. Assuredly no such echo has ever been heard in the history of mankind. Irish hills and Swiss mountains would have given up in despair before such a many-throated arrangement as that.
The yearlings gazed at each other in still greater consternation. They did not know what to think at that stage of the game.
“Hello!” cried Rogers, boldly trying it once more.
And to his amazement there was not a sound.
“This is the most uncanny thing I ever heard of in my life,” he whispered to his companions. “It almost makes me think of spirits. Hello up there!”