Crown and Sceptre Part 30

Silence. And Fred seemed to be deeply interested in the proceedings of a great flap-winged heron which had alighted on the further sh.o.r.e.

"Will you go, Fred?" said Scarlett, at last.

"No. It's your place, and you ought to go."

"Yes," said Scarlett, slowly; "I suppose I ought."

"No, no, I'll go," cried Fred, eagerly. "I will not be so shabby.

Let's cut a stick, and then set me ash.o.r.e."

Scarlett nodded, and resuming the rowing, ran the boat's head ash.o.r.e, close to a clump of willows. Then, taking out his knife, he hacked off a rod about ten feet long, trimmed off the twigs and leaves, all but a patch on the end, and, before his companion could realise what he intended, he had leaped ash.o.r.e, given the boat a thrust, and run up the bank.

"No, no," cried Fred. "I'll go."

"It's my place, and I shall go myself," replied his companion. "Take the oars and row gently along. I don't think I shall mind. If I do, I'll come back and you shall go."

"But you have no light."

"No," said Scarlett, gravely; "but I know the way now, and that there's no danger, so I shall not care." Before Fred could offer further remonstrance, Scarlett had run into the nearest patch of woodland and disappeared.

"I don't like letting him go," muttered Fred, as he gazed at the spot where his companion had disappeared. "It seems as if I were a coward.

Perhaps I am, for it does seem shivery work to do. Never mind, I'll go next time," he added quickly; and, taking the oars, he sat down where his companion had vacated the seat, and began to row slowly back to where he fancied the entrance must be.

Then followed so long a period of waiting that the boy grew anxious, and after rowing to and fro for some time outside the thick growth which edged that portion of the lake, he made up his mind that something must be wrong, and determined to land and go in search of Scarlett.

"How horrible if he has waded into a deep place, and gone down!" he muttered, as he bent over the oars, to pull with all his might, when he fancied he heard a distant hail.

He ceased rowing, and the water rippled about beneath the front as he listened.

"Where are you?" he cried.

"Here," came from apparently a great distance.

"Where's here?"

"Here, here, here. Can't you see?"

The voice seemed to come from far away, and he drew in the oars, and stood up in the boat to look from side to side, searching eagerly, and trying to pierce the bushes and overhanging ivy, which screened the rocky sh.o.r.e.

"Here! Hoy!"

Fred faced round now, and looked across the lake, to see Nat standing on the farther sh.o.r.e.

"What are you doing? Got any?" shouted Nat.

Fred put his hands to the sides of his mouth, and shouted back.

"No! not yet."

"Where's Master Scarlett?"

"Ash.o.r.e."

"Oh!"

"He thinks we've been setting eel-lines," muttered Fred, as, to his great annoyance, he saw the gardener seat himself on the distant bank and watch him.

"Oh, what a bother!" he cried, with an impatient stamp on the bottom of the boat. "Well, he must think so, then."

To induce the spy upon his proceedings to go on in this belief, Fred stooped down in the boat, and picked up and threw in an imaginary line.

After which, he took up one oar, and, standing upright, began to paddle the boat in toward the bank, where a large birch drooped over and dipped its delicate sprays of leaves almost into the surface of the lake.

"I'll moor her fast here," thought Fred, "and go ash.o.r.e and warn Scar.

We can't do any more, with that fellow watching."

To this end, he paddled the boat close to the silver trunk of the birch, whose roots ran down into the clear water, forming quite a delicate fringe, amongst which the tiny perch loved to play.

He was in the act of fastening the chain as he stood up, and had pa.s.sed it round one of the lower boughs, being fairly well screened now from Nat's observation by the delicate spray, when a fly seemed to tickle his ear.

Fred struck at it viciously without looking round, and went on fastening the chain, when the fly again seemed to tickle him, this time low down in the nape of his neck.

"Get out! Will you?" he cried: and he turned, sharply struck at the fly, and caught--

The end of the willow rod with its tuft of leaves.

"Oh!" he e.j.a.c.u.l.a.t.ed, as the tug he gave at the wand was replied to by another at the end; and as he looked, he saw that it came from out of a dense ma.s.s of twiggy alder above his head, where a quant.i.ty of ivy grew.

"Scar," he cried, giving the wand a shake, "are you there?"

"Yes," came in a faint whisper that sounded very hollow and strange.

"Didn't you hear me shout!"

"No."

"I was afraid to cry too loud, because it goes backward so, rumbling all along the pa.s.sage. Whereabouts is it?"

"By the big birch-tree; just where we thought it couldn't be."

"Eh? Speak up."

"By the big birch-tree; just where we thought it couldn't be; and I can't speak louder, because Nat's over the other side, watching."

"Can he see you now?"

"No. But are you all right!"

"Yes."

"You're higher up than I thought. Stop till I push the boat closer, and I'll see if I can find any loose stones."