“Guess he didn’t want to be seen, by the way he disappeared in such a hurry,” Fenn remarked.
“We’ll have to keep watch to-night,” said Bart. “We don’t want Sandy or any of his friends sneaking around.”
“That’s right,” assented Ned.
They lighted the lantern and, by the gleam of it, and by that from a fire they kindled on shore, they made their camp. A hasty meal was prepared and then the shelter tent was put up. A big pile of brushwood was collected for the fire and, dividing the night into four watches, of which Bart took the first, they spread out the blankets and the other three prepared to sleep.
But the weather, which had favored them all their trip, turned against them now. It began to rain about ten o’clock and from then, until morning, there was a steady downpour.
However they made the best of it, though the tent did leak, and the fire refused to do anything more than smoulder. It was rather a cheerless breakfast they had, for the coffee was only lukewarm and the bacon half done. But they made jokes about it and soon were on their way down the river.
“Guess it was too wet for Sandy,” observed Bart, as he tilted his hat so the rain would not drip down his neck.
They left the canoe at Riverton and made the best time possible to Darewell. Wet through, but happy in spite of it all they reached their homes, fully satisfied with their trip.
The next morning as Fenn was taking a short cut across lots to get to Frank’s house, he heard a noise as though two birds were calling to one another in a little clump of bushes. The notes came clear and sweet and Fenn paused to catch a sight of the songsters. As he did so something in the bushes moved, a robin flew out and John Newton came into view. As he did so Fenn realized that John was one of the “birds.”