The great cauldron gaped below them, apparently perpendicular on every side, enclosing in its depths the black lake, on whose still surface the rays of the sun gleamed weirdly and gloomily.
Not a sound was to be heard except a distant sullen rumble, which might have been thunder, or earthquake, or the six-o'clock train going back to Llandudno.

Above them, as the clouds drifted past, they could see, as they lay on their backs, occasional glimpses of blue, and sometimes in the far distance a shining peak bathed in crimson light.
All this was natural enough; and, were it not that they had their return tickets in their pockets, Magnus minor and Joe would probably have been content to enjoy the show for an hour or so.
What did concern them, when they got to their feet, was to observe that, so far from being as they supposed, and could have testified on solemn affidavit, on the top of the mountain, the ground now appeared to rise on every side except that occupied by the cauldron.
Whichever way they tried to walk they found themselves going uphill.
"Rum start," said Magnus minor, after ramping round in a semicircle and finding no trace of their homeward path.

"It strikes me we shall have to hang out here till the clouds roll by, Joey." "All very well.

How about grub ?" said the poet.

"We shall be just about what-do-you-call-it by then." "Hullo," said Magnus, looking at his watch, "do you know it's 11 p.m.
and broad daylight." Joe consulted his watch, and wound it up as he did so.
"So it is--must be a thingamybob--a roaring boreali, or whatever you call it, going on.