“Five-and-twenty, then?”
“Oh, no,” I said; “it’s rather hard to tell, because of the way she folds double about; but I should think it’s twelve feet long.”
“I thought so,” said my uncle. “Pete, you’ll have to wear diminishing glasses.”
“That aren’t the one, sir,” said Pete gruffly.
“Shall I shoot, uncle?”
“No; we don’t want the skin, and it would be a very unpleasant task to take it off. Push off, Cross, and let’s go up the stream. I want to get to clearer parts, where we can land and make some excursions.”
Pete hung his head when I looked at him, but he said no more, and a couple of hours after, with his clothes thoroughly dry, he was helping to navigate the boat, rowing, poling, and managing the sail till night fell, when we once more moored to a great tree trunk, as we had made a practice all the way up, and slept in safety on board, with the strange noises of the forest all around.