“How many are there?” said Bob, as he climbed out upon the grass, after washing his clayey arm.
“Twenty-one,” said Dexter.
“Ah, just you wait a bit till I’m dressed.”
Bob said no more, but indulged in a natural towel. That is to say, he had a roll on the warm grass, and then rose and ran to and fro in the glowing sunshine for about five minutes, after which he rapidly slipped on his things, which were handed to him from the boat.
“Now,” he cried, as he stepped in once more and seized an oar, “I’ll show you something.”
They rowed on for some distance, till a suitable spot was found at the edge of a low, scrubby oak wood which ran up a high bank.
The place was extremely solitary. There was plenty of wood, and as soon as the boat had been moored Dexter was set to work collecting the sticks in a heap, close up to where there was a steep bare piece of stony bank, and in a few minutes the dry leaves and grass first collected caught fire, then the twigs, and soon a good glowing fire was burning.
The bread and butter and bottle of milk were stood on one side, and close by them there was a peculiar noise made by the unhappy cray-fish which were tied up in Bob’s neckerchief, from which the bread had been released.
“Going to cook ’em!” he said; “in course I am. Wait a bit and I’ll show yer. I say! this is something like a place, ain’t it!”
Dexter agreed that it was, for it was a sylvan nook which a lover of picnics would have considered perfect, the stream ran swiftly by, a few yards away the stony bank rose up, dotted with patches of brown furze and heath, nearly perpendicularly above their heads, and on either side they were shut in by trees and great mossy stones.