While he was busy at the box, he did not pay much attention to the raft, and it kept turning round and round, as it floated with the current down the river.
While the little navigator was thus engaged, the raft bumped against something, and Robert sprang to his feet. The whirling craft had run up against the shore, and got aground.
This did not hurt the raft any; but pussy, who had kept both of her sharp eyes fixed upon the land all the time, no sooner saw the vessel touch, than she improved her chance and jumped ashore.
“Pussy, pussy, pussy,” called Robert, when he saw that one of his companions had given him the slip.
It was of no use to call her, for she was scampering away as fast as her nimble feet would carry her in the direction of home. She had no idea of sharing the fortunes of Mr. Robinson Crusoe, Jr., on his lonely island.
“That’s real mean—isn’t it, Trip?” said he, as he turned to the dog.
But it was very clear that Trip did not think it was mean, for he was in the very act of springing ashore himself.
“Here, Trip. Come here, sir,” cried he, as he tried to get hold of the dog’s collar.
Trip did not stop to hear any argument on the subject, but, with a long leap, placed himself on the shore. He did not run off, as pussy had done, but stood on the bank of the river, and barked with all his might.
The raft had now floated off a short distance, and Robert took his oars and rowed it to the shore, for he could not think of such a thing as losing both of his friends, and before he landed on the island.