“That’s so,” said Dan. “You tell him you’re going in my canoe, Gerald, and I guess he will let you go.”
So the three hurried off, leaving Tom to settle himself more comfortably on the cushions and take up his magazine again with a sigh.
[CHAPTER XVI]
THE PICNIC
At eleven they were paddling up the river against a stiff tide with the wind quartering the canoes from across the marshes. There was a big pasteboard box of luncheon in Alf and Tom’s craft, while between Dan and Gerald lay a pile of rugs. Paddling was rather hard work and, although they started off merrily enough, they soon relapsed into silence and saved their breath for their labor. Once past Flat Island it was easier going, for the stream narrows there and the banks are higher and afford more protection from the wind. Half a mile farther Tom protested.
“Isn’t this far enough?” he asked. “What’s the good of killing ourselves.”
“There isn’t a decent place to camp here,” answered Alf. “Let’s go up where we can find some trees to break the wind. It isn’t much farther.” Tom groaned and bent over his paddle again. Gerald had learned paddling the year before and was quite an adept, but his softer muscles soon tired and he was heartily glad when Alf finally called a halt, about a mile and a half from school.
“Here’s a dandy place,” Alf announced, “over here on the left.”
“The other side looks better,” said Tom.