“No, no, I mean such a place as Dave’s and John Warren’s. You and I could retreat there whenever we liked.”
Tom stared, and did not seem to grasp the idea for a few minutes; then his eyes brightened.
“Why, Dick,” he cried, “that would be glorious! We could catch and shoot birds, and have our own fire, and no one could get to us.”
“Without a boat,” said Dick slowly.
“I’d forgotten that,” said Tom thoughtfully. “How could we get there, then?”
“We’d borrow Hicky’s punt till we had built one for ourselves.”
“But could we build one?”
“Of course we could, or make one of skins, or a raft of reeds. There are lots of ways.”
“But what will your father say?”
“I don’t know,” said Dick dolefully; “he thinks I’m fighting against him, so I suppose he’ll be glad I’ve gone.”