This was exciting, and now Dexter began for the first time to be glad that he had come.
“I’ve got him now!” cried Bob excitedly; and, rising from a stooping position, in which his shoulder was right underneath, he threw a dingy-looking little fresh-water lobster into the boat.
Dexter examined it wonderingly, and was favoured with a nip from its claws for his attention.
“Here’s another,” said Bob, and he threw one much larger into the boat, its horny shell rattling on the bottom.
“Are they good to eat?” said Dexter.
“Good to eat? Why, they’re lovely. You wait a bit. And, I say, you look how I do it; I shall make you always catch these here, so you’ve got to learn.”
Dexter paid attention to the process, and felt that there was not much to learn: only to find out a hole—the burrow of the cray-fish,—and then thrust in his hand, and, if the little crustacean were at home, pull it out. The process was soon learned, but the temptation to begin was not great.
Bob evidently found the sport exciting, however, for he searched away with more or less success, and very soon there were a dozen cray-fish of various sizes crawling about the bottom of the boat.
“There’s thousands of them here,” cried Bob, as he searched away all along beneath the steep bank, which was full of holes, some being the homes of rats, some those of the cray-fish, and others of eels which he touched twice over—in one case for the slimy fish to back further in, but in the other, for it to make a rush out into the open water, and swim rapidly away.
The pursuit of the cray-fish lasted till the row of willows came to an end, and with them the steep bank, the river spreading out again, and becoming stony and shallow.