Will of the Mill | Page 4

boughs, which began
to play elastically up and down, but made no sign of loosening the
parent stem, firmly anchored in the crevices of the limestone rock.

It was only a few feet out, and then the boy was exactly over the
umbrella, some forty feet below. Then he began to fish, glancing from
time to time through the leaves, as he sat watching and rubbing his
hands.
The first gentle cast was a failure; so was the second; but the third time
never fails. Will twisted the cord on his fingers, with the result that the
double hook turned right over, and the barbed points, in answer to a
gentle twitch, took hold of the white fabric, after passing right through.
Had there been earth below, in which the umbrella staff could have
been stuck, the manoeuvre must have failed; but the shelf was nearly all
rock, against some fragments of which the stick was propped. There
was no failure then. There came up a faint rasping sound as of wood
over stone, as the cord tightened, and then very slowly the umbrella
began, parachute-like, to rise in the air, higher and higher, as it was
hauled up hand over hand till the spike touched the lower twigs of the
horizontal oak bough.
The next moment it was being retained in its novel place by Will
making fast the line, winding it in and out between two dead branches;
and then the boy quietly urged himself back to where Josh was
chuckling softly as he peered down. For he was having a good view of
that which had been hidden from Will, but which it was his turn now to
share; and, judging from his features, he did enjoy it much.
But it was only the face and upper portion of a big, muscular,
tweed-clothed man, lying back with his hands under his head, eyes
closed fast, and mouth wide open, fast asleep.
He was a sturdy-looking fellow, with a big brown beard and moustache;
but the boys did not stop to look, only began to retrace their steps so as
to get down upon a level with the shelf upon which the sleeper lay.
"Capital!" whispered Josh. "What will he say?"
"Don't know; don't care!" was the reply.

"We'd better get away, hadn't we?"
"No-o-oo! We must stop. I wouldn't be away on any account."
"But then he'll know we did it, and get in a rage."
"Pst! Be quiet."
Will hurriedly led the way till they reached a clump of bushes where
they could squat down with a good view of the sleeper, who remained
perfectly still.
Josh looked up at the umbrella, which looked as if the oak tree had
bloomed out into one huge white flower. Pointing up with one hand, he
covered his face with the other to stifle a laugh, and Will uttered a
warning.
"Hist!"
Just at that moment, heard above the murmur of the machinery in the
mill, and the wash and splash of the water, there arose the peculiar
strident buzz of a large bluebottle, busily on the lookout for a suitable
spot on which to lay eggs.
Evidently it scented the artist, and began darting to and fro over his
open mouth.
In an instant there was an angry ejaculation, one hand was set at liberty,
and several blows were struck at the obnoxious fly, which, finding the
place dangerous, darted off, and the artist went loudly to sleep again.
The boys exchanged glances, and Josh stole out one hand, pulled a
hart's-tongue fern up by the roots, and, with admirable aim, pitched it
so that it fell right on the sleeper's chest.
The artist sat up suddenly, staring about him, while the boys crouched
perfectly motionless in their hiding-place.
"What's that?" reached their ears, and they saw the sleeper feeling
about till his hand came in contact with the dry fern root.

"Why, it must have been that," he muttered aloud, and he turned it over
and over.
Josh uttered a faint sound as if he were about to burst out laughing.
"It must have come from above, somewhere. If it was those boys--"
The artist looked up suspiciously as he spoke, and then, with a start, he
turned himself over on his hands and knees, to begin gazing
wonderingly up at the cotton blossom hanging from the tree.
"Well," he said, "I never felt it; it must have been one of those gusts
which come down from the mountain."
Will pressed his hands tightly over Josh's mouth, for he could feel him
heaving and swaying about as if he were about to explode.
"Blows up this valley sometimes," continued the artist, "just like a
hurricane."
"Pouf!" went Josh, for Will's efforts were all in vain.
"Ah-h-ah! I knew it!" cried