As this thought struck him, he sat down upon the ground, and began to look quite sad. He had destroyed the raft, which it had taken him two days to build. He was acting like a man who locks himself into a prison, and then throws the key out the window.
“I don’t know but we are getting into a bad scrape, Trip,” said he, as the dog seated himself in front of him, and looked up into his face as if to ask him what he meant to do next.
Trip wagged his tail, and did not seem to be at all concerned about the future. No doubt he felt able to swim to the main shore.
“But I’m not going to back out now, I can tell you, Trip. I’m going to have a time of it, any how. When I get back, if I ever do go back, I want to tell the fellows I enjoyed it first rate, and then they can’t laugh at me.”
It was now nearly noon, and he decided to dine before he began to work on the house. Opening the box, he took out some crackers and cheese; and while he ate himself, he gave Trip his full share. Robert had worked hard, and was very hungry; and Trip, like any other dog, was always hungry. The dinner they ate, therefore, made a large hole in the stock of food.
After the meal, they went down to the bank to take a drink. Robert took up a dipper of water, and tried to drink it, but it was so brackish that a very little satisfied him.
By this time he had begun to feel some of the hardships of Crusoe life. Crackers and cheese were not very dainty fare to a boy who had been used to living upon beefsteak and hot biscuit; and river water was not at all like tea and coffee, or even the water of his father’s well.
In spite of these difficulties, Robert went to work like a hero, and by sunset, he had finished his house so far as he could, for his stock of boards fell short when he had covered the top and one side of the dwelling.
While he was so busy he had not kept watch of Trip, and the glutton had gone to the box in which the gingerbread and crackers were kept, and eaten all he could of them. What he could not eat, he had munched up, till a decent pig would have refused to touch it.
“Trip, Trip. Come here, Trip, you rascal,” cried Robert, angry enough to kill the dog, if he had been near.