"Have some more bass, Gwyn?"
"Please, father."
"You should not speak with your mouth full, my dear," said Mrs
Pendarve, quietly.
"No, mother; but I didn't like to keep father waiting."
"And between the two stools you came to the ground, eh?" said Colonel
Pendarve, smiling. "Never mind; hold your plate. Lucky for us, my
dear, that we have only one boy. This fellow eats enough for three."
"Well, but, father, we were down by the boat at daybreak, and the sea
air makes one so hungry."
"Say ravenous or wolfish, my boy. But go on. It certainly is a
delicious fish, and Dolly has cooked it to a turn. They were rising
fairly, then?"
"Yes, father; we rowed right out to the race, off the point, and for
ever so long we didn't see a fish and sat there with our rods ready."
Gwyn talked away, but with his mouth rather full of fried bass and
freshly-baked bread all the same.
"And of course it was of no use to try till a shoal began to feed."
"Not a bit, father,--and Joe said we might as well come back; but when
the sun rose they were breaking all round us, and for half-an-hour we
kept hooking them at nearly every throw. Come and see the rest of my
catch; they're such beauties, as bright as salmon."
"That's right, but don't let any of them be wasted. Keep what you want,
mamma, dear, and give the others away. What did you use--a big fly?"
"No, father, those tiny spoon-baits. They come at them with a rush.
Then they left off biting all at once, and--some more coffee, please,
mother--and we rowed back home, and met Captain Hardock on the pier."
"Ah, did you?"
"Yes, father; and we gave him two pairs of fine ones, and he said they
looked as bright as newly-run tin."
"Humph! Yes, that man thinks of nothing else but tin."
"And he began about it again this morning, father," said Gwyn, eagerly.
"Indeed!" said Colonel Pendarve; and Gwyn's mother looked up inquiringly
from behind the silver coffee-urn.
"Yes, father," said Gwyn, helping himself to more fresh, yellow Cornish
butter and honey. "He said what a pity it was that you did not
adventure over the old Ydoll mine and make yourself a rich man, instead
of letting it lie wasting on your estate."
"My estate!" said the Colonel, smiling at his wife--"a few score acres
of moorland and rock on the Cornish coast!"
"But he says, father, he is sure that the old mine is very rich."
"And that I am very poor, Gwyn, and that it would be nice for me to make
a place for a mining captain out of work."
"But you will not attempt anything of the kind, my dear," said Mrs
Pendarve, anxiously.
"I don't think, so, my dear. We have no money to spare for speculating,
and I don't think an old Indian cavalry officer on half-pay is quite the
man to attempt such a thing."
"But old Hardock said you were, father, and that you and Major Jollivet
ought to form a little company of your own, and that he knows he could
make the mine pay wonderfully."
"Yes," said the Colonel, drily, "that's exactly what he would say, but I
don't think much of his judgment. I should be bad enough, but Jollivet,
with his wound breaking out when he is not down with touches of his old
jungle fever, would be ten times worse. All the same, though, I have no
doubt that the old mine is rich."
"But Arthur, my dear," protested Mrs Pendarve, "think of how much money
has been--"
"Thrown down mines, my dear?" said the Colonel, smiling. "Yes I do, and
I don't think our peaceful retired life is going to be disturbed by
anything a mining adventurer may say."
"But it would be interesting, father," said Gwyn.
"Very, my boy," said his father, smiling. "It would give you and Joe
Jollivet--"
"Old Joe Jolly-wet," said Gwyn to himself.
"A fine opportunity for trying to break your necks--"
"Oh, my dear!" cried Mrs Pendarve.
"Getting drowned in some unfathomable hole full of water."
"Arthur!" protested Mrs Pendarve.
"Losing yourself in some of the mazy recesses of the ancient workings."
"Really, my dear!" began Mrs Pendarve; but the Colonel went on--
"Or getting crushed to death by some fall of the mine roofing that has
been tottering ready to fall perhaps for hundreds of years."
"Pray don't talk like that, my dear," said Mrs Pendarve, piteously.
"He doesn't mean it, mother," said Gwyn, laughing. "Father's only
saying it to frighten me. But really, father, do you think the mine is
so very old?"
"I have no doubt of it, my boy. It is certainly as old as the Roman
occupation, and I should not be surprised if it proved to be as early as
the time when the Phoenicians traded here for tin."
"But I thought it was only stream tin that they got. I read it
somewhere."
"No doubt, my boy, they searched the surface for tin; but suppose you
had been a sturdy fellow from Tyre or Sidon, instead of a tiresome,
idle, mischievous young nuisance of an English boy--"
"Not quite so bad as that, am I, mother?" said Gwyn, laughing.
"That you are not, my dear," said Mrs Pendarve, "though I must own that
you do worry me a great deal sometimes by being so daring with your
boating, climbing and swimming."
"Oh, but I do take care--I do, really," said Gwyn, reaching out to lay
his hand upon his mother's arm.
"Yes, just as much as any other thoughtless, reckless young dog would,"
grumbled the Colonel. "I'm always expecting to have one of the
fishermen or miners come here with a head or an arm or a leg, and say he
picked it up somewhere, and does it belong to my son?"
"Really, Arthur, you are too bad," began Mrs Pendarve.
"He's only teasing you, ma, dear," cried Gwyn, laughing. "But I say,
father, what were you going to say about my being a Tyre and Sidonian?"
"Eh? Oh! That if you found tin in some gully on the surface, wouldn't
you dig down to find it where it was richer?"
"Can't dig through granite," said Gwyn.
"Well, chip out the stone, and by degrees form a deep mine."
"Yes, I suppose I should, father."
"Of course it's impossible to prove how old the mine is, but it is in
all probability very ancient."
"But it's only a deep hole, is it, father?"
"I cannot say. I never heard of its being explored; but there it is."
"I've explored it sometimes by sending a big stone down, so as to hear
it rumble and echo."
"Yes, and I daresay hundreds of mischievous boys before you have done
the same."
"Why was it called the Ydoll mine, father?"
"I cannot say, Gwyn. Some old Celtic name, or a corruption. It has
always been called so, as far as I could trace when I bought the land;
and there it is, and there let it remain in peace."
"If you please, my dear," said Mrs Pendarve. "Will you have some more
coffee and bread and butter, Gwyn?"
The boy shook his head, for there are limits even to a seaside appetite.
"Wonderful!" said the Colonel.
"What is, my dear?" said Mrs Pendarve.
"Gwyn has had enough for once. Oh, and, by the way, I have had quite
enough of that dog. If ever I find him scratching and tearing my garden
about again, I'll pepper him with shot."
The boy smiled and looked at his mother.
"Oh, you may laugh, sir, at your foolish, indulgent father. I don't
know what I could have been about to let you keep him. What do you want
with a great collie?"
"He's such a companion, father; and see how clever he is after rabbits!"
"Matter of opinion," said the Colonel. "I don't suppose the rabbits
think so. Well, mind this: I will not have him tearing about among my
young fruit trees."