“No; you can ride,” said Dick. “I’ll walk.”
The heat of the day seemed to make the boys silent as they walked and rode in turn, gazing longingly the while over the spreading pools glistening in the sunshine, with the dragon-flies glancing here and there upon their gauzy wings which rustled and thrilled as they darted and turned in their wonderful flight, chasing their unfortunate winged prey. Every now and then a beautiful swallow-tail butterfly, plentiful once in these regions, flitted by, inviting pursuit where pursuit was impossible; while from the waving beds of giant grass which rose from the water and now began to show their empurpled heads, came the chattering of the reed-birds, as if in answer to the chirping of the crickets in the crisp dark heath.
“Look at the bulrushes, Tom!” said Dick lazily. And he nodded in the direction of a patch of the tall, brown, poker-like flowers and leaves of the reed-mace.
“Oh, yes, look at them!” said Tom sourly. “What a shame it is that we weren’t born with wings! Everything grows where you can’t get at it. If there’s a good nest, it’s surrounded by water.”
“Like an island,” assented Dick.
“The best butterflies are where you can’t get them without you go in a boat.”
“You can’t catch butterflies out of a boat,” said Dick contemptuously.
“You could, if you poled it along fast enough. Here, you jump on now. What a hot back old Solomon has got!”
“I daresay he thinks you’ve got horribly hot legs,” said Dick, laughing. “Here, come along quick!”
“What for?”