The New Zealanders realized the fact, and that it would be useless to renew their offer that the four should seek a common hiding-place.
"Kia ora, boys!" exclaimed Peter.
"And may we meet across the frontier!" added Malcolm.
Noiselessly the two Tommies lowered themselves into the water and swam with long steady strokes to the opposite bank. Creeping on all-fours across the tow-path, they vanished in the tall grass beyond.
"Jolly good sorts," declared Peter. "Come on, Malcolm; it's time we went to roost."
It was indeed. The daylight was rapidly increasing in strength. The mist was rolling away under the influence of a faint easterly breeze. Somewhere in the neighbourhood of the lock-keeper's cottage cocks were crowing lustily.
Malcolm backed into the coal-screened lean-to shelter; his brother followed, and, having deposited his bulky carcass in the hollow, began to pile lumps of coal over the entrance.
"Thank goodness they didn't whitewash the coal!" he remarked.
"Why whitewash?" asked his brother curiously.
"To stop thefts," was the reply. "I wondered what the idea was when I saw whitewashed stacks of coal in various railway sidings in England, so I enquired. A thief couldn't disturb the heap without leaving a tell-tale black gap in the whitened level of the stack. How about grub? I'm feeling hungry."