"Well, he will soon have finished everything here. He's done the mill, and the sunsets, and old Drinkwater's cottage. There will be nothing left soon for him to daub." "Oh, yes; there will," said Josh, knowingly, as they trudged on. "I heard my father talking about it. He said these artist chaps had a new way of looking at everything each day of their lives. So that means that he will want to paint everything all over again. Glad I am not an artist. I don't like doing things over again." "Ho!" said Will. "I don't care." "No more do I," said Josh, "for I'm not an artist and I am not going to be one. But what are you staring at?" "I've lost the way," said Will, at last. "Ditto," said Josh. "Have you really? Shout. Mr Manners might hear." "You shout." Josh did so. "Bah! Nobody could hear that." Josh shouted once more. "Shout again," said Will. "No, you have a try. I shall be hoarse." "All right then.--Mr Manners--ahoy!" "He won't hear the Mister," said Josh, scornfully. "No, of course not," said Will. "Manners--ahoy!" "Ahoy!" came in a faint whisper. "It's an echo," said Josh. "Well, I know that, stupid." "He may have come round another way," hazarded Josh. "May anything," said Will. "But I don't believe there is another way.-- Mr Manners!--Ahoy!" he shouted. "Ahoy-oy?" came back faintly again. "There!" "It is only the echo. Seems too foolish to lose your way in a place like this." "Good as anywhere else," said Josh, cheerily. "But there's the Tor, and there's Mr Manners." "Where is he?" said Will, sharply. "Why, at the Tor." "Ugh! There, come on. None of your jokes." "Well, we can't be far wrong," said Josh. "We might be miles out," said Will; "and it will be dark soon. We were precious stupids to come all this way on the bare chance of meeting him. He may have gone off home." "Then we should have been sure to meet him." "Why?" said Will. "Because he would have come this way. It's the only safe one, on account of the bogs. Somewhere near here a man and a horse were swallowed up once." "Don't believe it," said Will. "You ask father." It was steady uphill work now; then real climbing; here and there their way was checked by a miniature heather-crowned crater, down which they peered, to see stony ledges and then a sheer fall. "He is only an ignorant Londoner after all," said Will, thoughtfully, as they scrambled on. "He might have let himself fall down one of those places." "Any one might do that," said Josh. "Hark! What's that?" "Didn't hear anything," said Will. "That's because you don't listen. Now!" said Josh, sharply. Will uttered a cry. "Yes," he said, excitedly. "You heard it?" "Yes, yes!" There was a groan. "There!" cried Will. "It's Mr Manners, and something's happened to him.--Manners!--Ahoy!" No answer came. "Wouldn't be having a game with us, would he?" "No," said Josh. "I don't think he'd do that." "Then let's go on a bit farther."