Part 56 (2/2)
”Well,” said the lad, bitterly, ”you were as bad as I--you never said a word about holding him.”
”No, I never thought of it,” said Joe, with a sigh. ”But how horrid, after thinking we were all right!”
”Yet it is disappointing,” said Gwyn, gloomily; ”but he'll soon come back when he finds that we are not following him; and even if he went right back to them, they'd send him in again.”
”I don't believe they did send him in,” said Joe, despairingly.
”They must. He couldn't have climbed down the ladders or got into the skep of his own accord, and, if he had, they wouldn't have let him down.
They sent him, I'm sure.”
”No, I'm afraid not,” said Joe, piteously; ”they didn't send him.”
”How do you know?”
”Because if they had, they would have done what people always do under such circ.u.mstances--written a note, and tied it to the dog's collar. He had no note tied to his collar, I'm sure.”
”No, I didn't see or feel any,” said Gwyn, thoughtfully.
”No; we should have been sure to see it if he had one; so, for certain, the dog came of his own will, and I don't think it's likely he'll come again. He may or he may not.”
Gwyn did not feel as if he could combat this idea, for Joe's notion that a note would have been tied to the dog's collar--a note with a few encouraging words--seemed very probable; so he remained silent, listening intently for the faintest sound.
But the silence was more terrible than ever, and, saving the musical dash of water from time to time, and an occasional rustle as of a few grains of earth or sand trickling down from the walls, all was still.
”Hear him coming back?” said Gwyn, at last, very dismally.
”No, but there is something I keep hearing. Can't you?”
”I? No,” said Gwyn, quickly. ”What can you hear?--footsteps?”
”Oh, no; not that. It's a humming, rolling kind of noise, very, very faint; and I can't always hear it. I'm not sure it is anything but a kind of singing in my ears. There, I can hear it now. Can you?”
Gwyn listened intently.
”No. Perhaps it is only fancy. Listen again. Oh, that dog must come back.”
Joe sat down, with the lanthorn beside him.
”Oh, don't give up like that!” cried Gwyn. ”Let's make a fresh start, and try and find our way out.”
”It's impossible--we can't without help.”
”Don't I always tell you that a chap oughtn't to wait to be helped, but try to help himself?”
”Yes, you often preach,” said Joe, dismally.
”Yes, and try too. Why, I--Ah! hear that?” cried Gwyn, excitedly.
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