Frank’s heart began to beat, as he thrust his hand into his pocket, for his fingers to come in contact with one little fragment of biscuit passed over before, and, waiting till he heard steps close behind him, he threw the piece out some distance, and stood watching the rush made by the water-fowl, one conveying the bit off in triumph.
Frank searched in vain for more, and he was regretting that he had been so liberal in his use of the provender, and racking his brains for a means of keeping up the conversation without risk to his companion, when about half a biscuit fell at his feet, and he seized it eagerly.
“He’s pretty well out of hearing, Frank; but speak low. I don’t want to be taken. You’d better move on a bit, and stop again. I’ll go off the other way after that spy, and work round and come back. You go and sit down a little way from the bushes yonder, and I’ll creep in behind, and lie there, so as to talk to you. Got a book?”
“No,” said Frank sadly.
“Haven’t you a pocket-book?”
“Oh yes.”
“Well, that will do. Take it out after you’ve sat down, and pretend to make a sketch of the trees across the water.”
“Ah, I shouldn’t have thought of that.”
“You would if you had been hunted as I have. There, don’t look round. I’m off.”
“But if we don’t meet again, Drew? I want to do something to help you.”