With nothing especial to do, immediately, the boys sat on the bank, to wait. Now the woods behind and the water in front were black, and the trees across on the other side were but a vague mass. A whole colony of whippoorwills whistled from point to point incessantly, and two owls, one distant, one quite near, hooted a responsive duet. Bob whined and shivered, for the air was damp with the falling dew and the mist rising from the water. Beyond, in the channel of the river, sounded the soft exhaust of an ascending rafter.
Despite the attentions of numerous mosquitoes, Ned felt himself growing sleepy.
“Wonder what time it is,” he hazarded.
“Must be nearly nine,” said Hal.
“Sam said to run the lines again about ten, didn’t he?” inquired Ned.
“Yes, about ten, and early in the morning,” responded Hal, drowsily.
Conversation languished; and after an interval of silence, punctuated only by the spasmodic complaints of Bob, who was acting very babyish, Ned spoke up:
“Say—what’s the matter with running the lines now, and not waiting till ten. I’m pretty near asleep.”
“Let’s. So am I,” agreed Hal.