“Gimme some blanket,” remarked Tom, disgustedly, “and lemme go to sleep. I’m sorry I let you come now!”
Tom rolled himself up sulkily, and Dave lay and thought a while longer, and then fell asleep.
The sun was just rising when Tom woke again, rather cold and stiff.
He sat up and dug his elbow into Dave’s ribs.
“It’s daylight,” he said; “we’ll have to get into the scrub before anybody sees us.”
They rolled up the tent and blanket hurriedly, lifted their swags, and made for cover, Tom leading the way, stooping every now and then beneath the brambles, or pausing to disentangle himself from the insidious clutch of the lawyer vines, which reached out their long tentacles armed with strong, curved teeth to stay him.
Very often the boys had to crawl on their hands and knees under the dense, scrubby growths for yards.
At length they reached the centre of the island.
They were almost under the fig-tree when Tom Pagdin stopped suddenly and caught Dave by the arm.