“R-o-o-w, brothers, row!
The stream runs fast!
The rap—ids are ne-ar
And the day—light’s past.”
“Ro-o-w——”
“But it isn’t rowing, it’s paddling,” objected Merritt.
“Whoever heard of a rhyme to paddling?” demanded Tubby, “you might as well expect one to motor boating,” and he resumed his song.
As they drew near to the spot where the camp had been pitched they saw the black figure of Jumbo on the beach. Tubby hailed him in a loud voice. Instantly the negro looked up, and as his eyes fell on the canoes he tossed the frying pan he was scouring high into the air. It descended on his head again with a resounding whack.
But that African head seemed hardly to feel it. Bounding and snapping his fingers in joy, Jumbo raced up to the camp, electrifying everybody with the glad news that the canoes had been found.
“How on earth did you discover them, boys?” demanded the major, as the prows grated on the beach and a glad rush of excited feet followed.