"That! Why,
that's a piece of mistletoe. There's the nest, that lump of sticks up
this fir."
"Don't believe him, Arthur," struck in the incorrigible East; "I just
saw an old magpie go out of it."
Martin did not deign to reply to this sally, except by a grunt, as
he buckled the last buckle of his climbing-irons, and Arthur looked
reproachfully at East without speaking.
But now came the tug of war. It was a very difficult tree to climb until
the branches were reached, the first of which was some fourteen feet
up, for the trunk was too large at the bottom to be swarmed; in fact,
neither of the boys could reach more than half round it with their arms.
Martin and Tom, both of whom had irons on, tried it without success at
first; the fir bark broke away where they stuck the irons in as soon as
they leant any weight on their feet, and the grip of their arms wasn't
enough to keep them up; so, after getting up three or four feet, down
they came slithering to the ground, barking their arms and faces. They
were furious, and East sat by laughing and shouting at each failure,
"Two to one on the old magpie!"
"We must try a pyramid," said Tom at last. "Now, Scud, you lazy rascal,
stick yourself against the tree!"
"I dare say! and have you standing on my shoulders with the irons on.
What do you think my skin's made of?" However, up he got, and leant
against the tree, putting his head down and clasping it with his arms as
far as he could.
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