Dave obeyed reluctantly.
“What’s this?” he cried. “It’s a swag!”
“Yes,” said Tom; “that’s my swag. It’s a bit more heavy nor yours. I bet you I got more things than you did!”
“I got a good lot,” replied Dave, “considerin’ the ole woman was pokin’ round!”
“Pooh! that’s nothin’; I got all these things while the old man wuz on the punt comin’ back with the milk carts ’bout dusk. I made seven trips. I’d go in an’ get one thing, and come back and hide in the lantana bushes; then somebody else would hail, and as soon as he started the punt across for the other side, I’d slip in an’ nick somethin’ else. By gosh, it wuz a heavy swag when I did it all up.”
“Wonder where they’ll think we are?” asked Dave.
“The ole man, he’ll think I’ll try to sneak back,” chuckled Tom, “I looked through a crack in the slabs last thing to-night an’ I see him settin’ with his face to the door an’ the buckle strap in his hand. He kin set. I’m not going back no more.”
“Neither am I,” avowed Dave.
“We’ll take the swags and go down the river a piece in the boat, and plant ’em for to-night,” said Tom.