They rowed steadily on, with Dexter rapidly improving in the management of his oar, till a farm-house was sighted near the bank; but it was on the same side as that upon which they had had their adventure.
They were afraid to land there, so rowed on for another quarter of a mile before another building was sighted.
This proved to be a farm, and they rowed up to a place where the cattle came down to drink, and a plank ran out on to a couple of posts, evidently for convenience in landing from a boat, or for dipping water.
“Here, I’ll go this time,” said Bob, as the boat glided up against the posts. “No games, you know.”
“What games!”
“No going off and leaving a fellow!”
“Don’t be afraid,” said Dexter.
“I ain’t,” said Bob, with a malicious grin. “Why, if a fellow was to serve me such a trick as that I should half-kill him.”
Bob landed, and as Dexter sat there in the swift-streamed Devon river gazing at the rippling water, and the glorious green pastures and quickly sloping hills, everything seemed to him very beautiful, and he could not help wishing that he had a pleasanter companion and some dinner.
Bob soon returned with a wine bottle full of milk and half a loaf, and a great pat of butter of golden yellow, with a wonderful cow printed upon it, the butter being wrapped in a rhubarb leaf, and the bread swung in Bob’s dirty neckerchief.