Ho-ho! for the fisherman’s life.”
By-and-by the boys came back to consult the hamper again—nothing like the sea to make [p126] people hungry, and nothing like the sea to steal away the time. So down they sat to the delights of pork-pie, sandwiches, tarts, and the like; and, at last, all had vanished, save a little lemonade, reserved for fear they should be thirsty at starting. As for Rameses, he munched his hay and drank his one jar of water, poured into a bucket which Dick had hung on under the cart.
“The old chap won’t be able to drink of the briny,” he had said in the morning, drawing attention to his forethought for the animal’s comfort.
“Now, just a whisk round, and we shall have to be moving homeward,” said Dick, consulting his watch as they sat together. “I promised Madame Giche not to be after sunset, and we’re keeping company hours with a vengeance with our late dinner. Why, ’tis between six and seven o’clock!”
“There’ll be a moon,” remarked Oscar.
“Yes; but that’s not a sun,” returned Dick, with a laugh. Then they all laughed—they were so happy, so light-hearted and gay.
“Now, you girls, make the most of the next [p127] half-hour or so, and then ’twill be, ‘Britons, strike home!’”
So Dick admonished them; and then he and Oscar went strolling away for their last bout, as they called it.
Who does not know how swiftly the last half-hour of a very enjoyable time whirls away? The four girls sat down in the glory of it all to sort their shells, arrange their seaweed, and just rest and, as it were, digest the day’s pleasure.
“And there has been no coming to grief, and no anything,” remarked Sybil: a speech which doubtless would have shocked Madame Giche, had she heard it.