Louie, sitting cross-legged in the other corner, with her chin in her hands, looked on with her usual detached and critical air.

David had not allowed her much of a voice in the preparations, and she felt an instinctive aversion towards other people's ingenuities.

All she had contributed was something to while away the time, in the shape of a bag of bull's-eyes, bought with some of the sixpence Uncle Reuben had given her.
Having laid out his stores, David went to work.

Getting out on the projecting stone again, he laid the bit of tarpaulin along the sloping edge of the rock which roofed them, pegged it down into crevices at either end, and laid a stone to hold it in the middle.
Then he slipped back again, and, behold, there was a curtain between them and the Downfall, which, as the dusk was fast advancing, made the little den inside almost completely dark.
'What's t' good o' that ?' inquired Louie, scornfully, more than half inclined to put out a mischievous hand and pull it down again.
'Doan't worrit, an yo'll see,' returned David, and Louie's curiosity got the better of her malice.
Stooping down beside her, he looked through the hole which opened to the moor.

His eye travelled down the hillside to the path far below, just visible in the twilight to a practised eye, to the river, to the pasture-fields on the hill beyond, and to the smoke, rising above the tops of some unseen trees, which marked the site of the farmhouse.