"There!" said Josh. "It's just the same. But what's that?"

"I didn't hear anything."

"I did--a call. There, can't you hear it now?"

"It's a bird," said Will, as they both listened. "That's all. But
there, if you won't go, I tell you what you might do--clamber up and
hoist a signal."

"What signal?"

"Your handkerchief," said Will.

"Would it do any good?" asked Josh. "It's a precious long way up. How
is he?"

Will leaned over the unconscious man.

"Asleep, I think," he said quietly. "How dark it's getting. Look up
there! Why, the sky's nearly black."

"I think I will climb up and shout," said Josh. "They are sure to come
and look for us, and that will help them."

"Right," said Will. "But mind how you go!"

"Oh, yes; I'll be careful," said Josh, and he began slowly to climb.
"It's much easier here," he said breathlessly.

Will listened to his scrambling.

"How are you getting on?" he asked.

"Capitally. I'm near the top."

A few more minutes elapsed, and then a voice came down--

"I'm up."

"Right."

"Will!"

"Yes."

"I've fastened my handkerchief to the stump of a bush."

"That's right."

"I say!"

"Well?"

"How shall we get Mr Manners up when they do come?"

"Push and pull," said Will.

"But he's awfully heavy."

"Oh, I know; but we shall manage. I say, I wonder where his paint-box
and things are. Perhaps they all went down with him."

"Not they," said Josh, as his foot kicked against something. "They are
all up here. I've got them. Isn't he awake yet?"

"No--yes--I say, Mr Manners, are you better?"

"I--Where am I?--Oh, yes, I remember. Better? I think so. What are
you doing here?"

"Came to find you, and--"

From above there came a shout.

"Hallo!" said Will. "That's Josh found then."

CHAPTER SEVEN.

THE RESCUE.

"That you, boys?" came from somewhere far above, out of the darkness,
and it was Josh who answered, while Will said in a low tone:

"I say, Mr Manners, I am glad. Now don't you think you could get up?
It's father and Mr Carlile."

The artist made a brave attempt.

"I could stand on one leg," he said, "but that's about all I'm good for.
My ankle gives way at once."

"Then we must just wait," said Will. "That's the only thing to do. It
was my father who called. Say, Josh!"

"Hallo!"

"That you, my boy?" came from above.

"Yes, father."

"I must sit down again," said the artist, in a low tone, for he had been
sta