"Yes; a very nice boy," said the artist, gravely; "but as I promised, I won't be hard, for anyhow you've got some pluck. Look here, how did you manage to get my gamp up yonder?"

"Went up above and fished for it," said Will, coolly.

"Fished for it? What with?"

"Water-cord and an eel-hook," growled Will. "I say, Mr Manners, this is bad manners, you know; you do hurt awfully."

"Ha, ha, ha!" laughed the artist, boisterously. "Fished it up with an eel-hook? Well, I suppose I am heavy. Look here, if I let you get up, will you fish it down?"

"Won't promise," growled Will.

"All right; I believe you will," and he rolled off, leaving the boys at liberty to spring up, Josh to begin rubbing himself all over, Will to dash to the first big stone, catch it up, and make an offer as if to throw it at the artist's head.

The latter blew a cloud of smoke at the pa.s.sionate-looking lad, and sat looking him full in the face.

"All right," he said, coolly; "chuck!"

Will raised the stone as high as he could, and hurled it with all his might high in the air so that it should fall with a heavy splash into the pool below.

"Ha!" cried the artist. "Feel better now?"

"Yes," said Will, brushing himself down. "But I say, Mr Manners, you are a jolly weight."

"Yes, I suppose I am. I say, I'm going to have a try after the trout to-night. Where had I better go?"

"Likely I'm going to tell you after serving me like this!"

"Of course it is. I was going to ask you to come."

"Will you ask me, if I do?"

"Likely I'm going to ask you after serving my gamp like that!"

"Oh, I'll soon get that down," replied Will, cheerily. "Here! you go, Josh. I put it up. I'm tired now; I had all his weight on me."

"Well, but I had all his weight and yours too, and I'm sore all over."

"You can't be," said Will. "You must be sore all under, for you were at the bottom."

"Oh, but I can't, Will. I feel as if I was tired out."

"All right," cried Will, "I'll go;" and, springing up, he scampered down to the level where the easel and canvas still stood, and climbed up as the others followed more slowly; and a few minutes later the umbrella came parachute-like down, to be folded up by its owner. Will shouldered the easel, Josh tucked the canvas under his arm, and they all walked up-stream together as if nothing had happened, towards Drinkwater's attractive little cottage, which formed the temporary home of the lover of rustic art, and discoursing the while about the red-spotted beauties whose haunts Will was to point out that evening after tea.

The cottage with its pretty garden was reached, and the boys handed their loads to the owner.

"What time will you be here?" he said.

"We ought to start at five," replied Will, "but we can't get here till nearly six, because Josh is going to have tea with me."

"Look here, both of you come up and have tea with me. Mrs Drinkwater shall put two extra cups."

"Mean it?" cried Will.

"Mean it?" said the bluff artist. "Why, of course!"

The next minute the boys were walking down together towards the mill.

"Say, Josh," said Will, thoughtfully, "he isn't such a bad fellow, after all."

"No," said josh, dubiously, "but he's an awful weight."

CHAPTER FOUR.

LOST ON THE TOR.

"Well, go and ask Mr Manners to come up, then," said Mr Willows, one morning a few days later, as Will and Josh stood waiting; "that is," he went on, "if you really think that he would like to come. I should be very pleased to see him. But don't worry the man."

"Oh, I'm sure he would, father," said Will; "wouldn't he, Josh?"

"Yes," said Josh, quickly. "I know he's been wanting to see the place."

"He's thrown out hints," said Will.

"Oh, has he?" said the mill-owner, with a smile. "Thrown out hints, eh?

Well, I shall be delighted to see him. But I thought you two chaps were not on very good terms with him."

"Oh yes, father; it's all right now. Of course we thought that he was only a painter, but he is really a splendid chap. Come on, Josh; we'll get him to come up now."

"Only a painter," said Mr Willows, with a laugh, as he looked after them.

The two lads started for the cottage where the artist, who was making picture after picture of the neighbourhood, took his meals--when, that is, he did not picnic in the open, which was fairly frequently--and where he slept--and one could sleep in that crisp mountain air.

"No, my dears," said Mrs Drinkwater, who had come down to the little white gate to speak to them, "Mr Manners is out, I am very sorry."

"Oh!" said Will.

"Where's he gone?" asked Josh.

"He went off very early this morning, sir," said the woman. "He told me to cut him some sandwiches. He said that I would be away all day, as he was going as far as the Tor."

"And never asked us!" cried Josh. "What a jolly shame!"

"Humph! It is a pity," said Will, and he turned away. "I say, why shouldn't we go after him?"

"Perhaps he doesn't want us."