“There’s the raft; we could on the raft.”
“Shall we go on the raft?”
“Suppose we go all round the island?” said Bevis, “on the raft.”
“We never have been,” said Mark. “Not close to the shore.”
“No; let us pole round close to the shore—all round, and see if we can find any spoor in the shallows.”
They went to the raft and embarked. As they started a crimson glow shot along under the clouds, the sun was sinking and the sky beamed. The wind had risen and the wavelets came splash, splash against the edge of the raft. Some of the yellow leaves of the willows floated along and fell on the deck. They poled slowly and constantly grounded or struck the shore, so that it occupied some time to get round, especially as at the southern extremity it was so shallow they were obliged to go a long way out.
In about an hour they reached the thick bed of reed-grass into which Bevis had shot his arrow, and as the raft slowly glided by Mark suddenly exclaimed, “There it is!”
There it was—a path through the reed-grass down to the water’s edge—the trail of some creature. Bevis stuck his pole into the ground to check the onward movement of the raft. The impetus of the heavy vessel was so great though moving slowly that it required all his strength to stay it. Mark came with his pole, and together they pushed the raft back, and it ran right up into the reed-grass and grounded. Pan instantly leapt off into the path, and ran along it wagging his tail; he had the scent, though it seemed faint as he did not give tongue. They stood at the bulwark of the raft and looked at the trail.