Before the council broke up one solemn and momentous step was taken.
“What shall we call our island?” asked Bowler dramatically, placing his finger on the map and looking round on his fellow-adventurers.
There was a pause, and for a moment the founders of the new empire were wrapped in silent thought. At last Gayford said—
“I know—just the thing.”
“What? What? What?” inquired three voices.
“New Swishford.”
It is hardly needful to add that the name was there and then duly appended to the island on the chart in red ink, which done, the company separated to sleep, and heard all night long in their dreams the crack of Braintree’s “wifle” echoing among the waving woods and fertile valleys of New Swishford.
Chapter Two. Preparation.
The week following the important consultation described in the last chapter was one of serious excitement to at least seven boys at Swishford.
Other fellows could not make out what was the matter, and as long as Bowler did not shirk the football match, and Gayford stuck up as usual for his house, they did not particularly care. It was certainly a novelty to see Braintree diligently reading a book in his odd moments, but when it transpired that the book was Wobinson Cwusoe, that wonder ceased. And even the surprise of seeing Crashford the lion lying down, so to speak, with Tubbs the lamb, wore away in time, and the conspirators were, on the whole, left undisturbed by Swishford to develop their plans for the eventful emigration of the coming spring.