The landing was effected with no difficulty, although here of course there was no pier. They followed the trail through the woods for a long way, trying to find a place to camp. One spot attracted some; a second attracted others; but for a long time, no place attracted them all.
“There are too many stones here,” Rosie would say, “it won’t be comfortable to sit down.”
“And it’s too sunny here,” Maida commented. “It’ll melt the ice cream and the butter—and everything.”
“That place slants,” Laura made the third objection, “we want a nice flat spot.”
“I think I hear water,” Dicky cried suddenly.
“Water!” Maida repeated, “Water! How can you hear it? There’s no water here. I never saw any brook around here. I can’t hear any water.”
Neither could anybody else; yet Dicky persisted that he heard the sound of running water.
“You wait here,” he exclaimed suddenly, “let me see if I can find it.” He disappeared through the trees. He came running back in a few minutes obviously excited. “I haven’t found it yet,” he explained, “but I certainly hear it plainer and plainer the farther I go.”
The others swarmed into the bushes. Dicky led the way like a little human divining rod.