There was certainly no lack of the large berries on Bass Island. Eddie Grant told Dick he could take him to a place they had hardly touched as yet, and where their buckets could easily be filled in two hours.
The berry pickers set off, Fred and Peg going with the party.
“We haven’t seen a sign of a snake so far,” Eddie remarked, as they walked along through the brush and amidst the trees.
“Well, since this is an island, and so far from the mainland,” observed Dick, “perhaps there isn’t a single snake of any kind on it.”
“I’m glad of that,” ventured Ban Jansen, frankly, “’cause I’m not any too fond of the crawlers. My folks told me to keep my eyes peeled for rattlers up in this region. I’d sure hate to run across one of ’em just when I was in the middle of a thick patch of berry bushes.”
The berry pickers enlivened the time with pleasant chatter as they pushed along through the brush, heading toward the distant spot where Eddie had noted the unusually heavily laden blueberry bushes.
Arriving on the ground the boys began to pick. It is slow work at the best, no matter if the berries can be fairly stripped off by a deft motion of the hand; and they could count on a couple of hours at the work if they expected to fill their pails.
By degrees they would, of course, separate as each became absorbed in his own picking. At the same time, they had agreed not to drift so far apart but that a loud shout would bring them together again.
Dick busied himself. And as his fingers worked, so his mind also found employment in going over some of the recent happenings that had served to enliven their camp life.
Among other things he remembered Asa Gardner. It was nice to know that the poor chap had brightened up so much of late. The pitiful expression had left his pinched face.