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“If we could get down there we could have a tub,” said Magnus.

“It’s snug enough up here,” replied the poet; “don’t you think so?” Magnus admitted it was snug, and did not press his motion. For, though he scorned to say so, he was fagged, and felt he could do with a half- hour’s lounge before undertaking a new venture.

So the reconciled friends took their siesta on the top of the mysterious mountain, and, in doing so, oddly enough fell asleep.

Chapter II. THE IMMORTALS.

When they woke, the sun was still shining; but it had got round to the side of them which, when they dropped off, had been wrapped in cloud, while the mist had taken possession of the valley and hillside by which they had ascended.

The transformation scene was so complete that had they not seen Joe’s paper on the ground beside them, and recognised the bank of heather against which they reclined, they would have found it difficult to say exactly where they were.

To all appearances they were at the end of the world. 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. Wouldn’t be so bad if it was good to eat.”

Magnus assented, and the two outcasts stood and watched with somewhat mingled feelings the battalion of clouds as they swirled past and soared up at the heights above.

“May as well go upstairs too,” said the poet, dismally. So they began the ascent. This time Magnus showed no inclination to forge ahead, and Joe took every precaution not to lag behind. In fact, they proceeded arm in arm, trying to enjoy it, but inwardly wondering who would have the benefit of their supper at Llandudno.

It was easy enough going; the turf was crisp and soft, and as they got up a little, flowers began to peep out. Though they could not see through the mists, they fancied they could catch the sound of birds and the splash of water. The clouds, sweeping up on every side, seemed to help them along, so that sometimes they could hardly be quite sure whether they were walking on earth or air. Altogether, had they but dined, they would have voted the walk one of the jolliest they ever had in their lives.

Presently a strange sound above brought them suddenly to a halt. It was music of some sort, but mingling with it the even sweeter music of plates and knives and forks; and when for a moment the music ceased, they seemed to detect voices and laughter.