"Stones!" he cried as he came up to me. "Jock knows stones!"
"Stones?" said I genially. "Dear me, Jock, this is great news. Are these
the stones?" and I pointed to the rocks all about us.
"Stones here!" cried Jock pointing eagerly across towards the other side
of the promontory, and catching me by the arm in a friendly way.
I had never seen the creature so excited before and for a moment could
make neither head nor tail of it. And then I remembered. On my last visit
to the knoll near the Scollays', Jock had been watching me, and by way of
playing my part thoroughly I had affected a vast interest in certain
large slabs of stone showing here and there through the grass. Looking at
stones was the last thing I was keen about this afternoon, but there was
simply no resisting Jock. With the air of a pleased child he led me in
the way he wished me to go, only letting go my arm when he saw I really
meant to inspect his stones.
"This is an unusual exhibition for Jock," I thought, but in the
character of Mr. Hobhouse there was nothing for it but pretending high
gratification and going where he led me.
The promontory was about a third of a mile across at this point and when
we had made this journey, my intelligent guide triumphantly pointed out a
few ordinary boulders at the end of it. They were large, it is true, but
there their merits ended.
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