Chapter Thirty Four.
An Awkward Pursuer.
It was wonderful how different the future looked after that picnic dinner by the river-side. The bread and butter were perfect, and the cray-fish as delicious as the choicest prawns. The water that glided past the bank was like crystal; the evening sun lit up the scene with orange and gold; and as the two boys lolled restfully upon the bank listening to the murmur of the running water, the twitter of birds, and the distant lowing of some ox, they thoroughly appreciated everything, even the rest after their tiring night’s work and toilsome day.
“Are we going on now!” said Dexter at last.
“What for?” asked Bob, as he lay upon his back, with his head in a tuft of heath.
“I don’t know.”
“What’s the good of going on? What’s the good o’ being in a hurry?”
“I’m not in a hurry, only I should like to get to an island where there’s plenty of fruit.”
“Ah, we shan’t get to one to-day!” said Bob, yawning. Then there was silence; and Dexter lay back watching the beautiful river, and the brown boat as it swung easily by its chain.