Now go and look, and see if old Big's coming back." I rose up again, and shading my eyes looked down to the cottage, beyond which the sea was glittering in the sun.
"No," I said; "not yet.

Yes, he is: here he comes." "Has he got it ?" cried Bob.
"I don't know," I replied, "he's so far-off; but he has got something.
He's waving his handkerchief." "Here, hi! Stop! Don't do that!" cried Bob, jumping up and throwing his arms about.

"You'll spill all the powder.

There's an old stupid.
He don't take any notice." "Why, how can he at all that distance away?
You couldn't make him hear if he was only a quarter as far." Bob did not reply, but sat down watching, and I did the same, while poor old Bigley came panting and toiling up the slope in the hot sun.
"Oh, isn't he jolly slow," cried Bob.

"I wish I'd gone myself.