The boys rowed on, until they came to a bend where there was something of a cove. As they rounded the point they heard the steady put-put! of a gasoline engine not far off.
“There is Nat’s craft now!” cried our hero, and pointed ahead.
“He’s all alone,” was Plum’s comment. “He can’t have many friends these days, or he’d have some of them along.” 123
“I’d hate to be without friends, Gus, shouldn’t you?”
“Yes, indeed! But it’s Nat’s own fault. If he’d only drop his important airs and be more sociable, he’d get along all right.”
On and on rowed the two students. It was a clear, balmy day, and they hated to return to the school until it was absolutely necessary.
“Let us row around Smith Island,” suggested our hero, mentioning a small place in the middle of the stream, so named after a farmer who owned it. It was a rocky and somewhat barren spot, and seldom visited by anybody but fishermen.
“All right, but we want to beware of the rocks,” cautioned the big youth.
The rowboat was headed up the stream, and soon they came in sight of the island. On one side were a number of bushes, overhanging the river.
“Hello! look there!” cried Dave, a few minutes later, and pointed to the bushes.