During this time the boat had been carried by the current, bumping into tree-trunks, and swinging to right and to left, with weeds and bushes scraping along its bottom and against its sides.
The boys lolled on the warm straw, and the dog, no doubt exhausted by his vigils in the barn-loft, went to sleep.
It was very pleasant, thus to float through the green woods, over ground which they so often had traversed afoot. Occasionally they saw other houses and barns, flooded and lifeless, and in all respects appearing much the same as the place at which the pointer had been discovered.
“Well, if the dog can go there again, all right,” murmured Hal. “I can’t.”
“I either,” declared Ned, drowsily.
At length the boat emerged into an open area, with only pond-lily pads and buds breaking the ripples.
“Hello!” spoke Hal. “This must be Beaver Lake, Ned.”
“So it is,” agreed Ned. “I believe we ought to turn back and strike for home, if we want to take things easy. If we go any farther we’ll have an awful job getting back.”
He seized the sculling oar, and swinging the craft around headed into the trees again.