It was Stone, and they grinned at him welcomingly.
“Come on, Ben,” invited Rod. “You’ve sure performed your share of the work, and you’ve a right to get in some fun. After a plunge, we’ll dress and hike out.”
They took a dip and a rub-down in the soft purple light of the breathless, balmy dawn, after which little time was lost in dressing and getting out the fishing tackle.
In the shadowy tent Sleuth and Sile slept on, the latter muttering and groaning occasionally, the former at last bound in peaceful slumber.
“They’re sure exhausted complete,” said Grant, as he brought the fishing outfit from the tent.
They paused near the canoe upon the sandy beach.
“Which way shall we go?” questioned Rod.
“I’ve got a feeling that I’d like to tut-try that brook again,” said Phil. “It’s handy, and we can feel pretty sure of catching something.”
“I was thinking the same thing,” admitted Grant. “Forbidden fruit is always the most attractive. Besides, three of us would crowd the canoe so that there would be little comfort in fishing. What do you say, Stone?”
“I’m ready for anything,” agreed Ben. “And if we keep to the near side of the brook, we know we’ll not be trespassing. Jim Simpson will have no grounds for raising a row.”