"What of that? We've often carried before."
"Not with an average of one fellow to a boat. No; I say we stop the other side of the small rapids. If any one wants to explore above there on his own account he can do so."
It was finally settled thus, and the party set forth. It was a pretty sight. The cedar canoes, with gay carpets and cushions, and freight of girls and boys in white boating costumes, gave the needed touch of life to the peaceful Charles River. So Mrs. Franklin thought when she came down to see them off.
"I have not been invited," she said, "but I really think I must drive up this afternoon and see your encampment."
"Oh, do, Mrs. Franklin!" cried Gertrude, enthusiastically. "We would just love to have you come, and we ought to have a chaperon, though we are all brothers and sisters and cousins! She is the most perfect creature," she added to Bronson, as they moved off. "You know she is the Franklins' step-mother. Isn't she a dear, Jack?"
Jack, who was paddling, acquiesced. Bronson sat at ease in the bow. He was always lazy. Neal, though averse to hard work which was work only, was ready for anything in the way of athletics. He was now an accomplished paddler, and had already far outstripped the others.
Their destination was some two or three miles up the river. The water was low, and Cynthia kept a sharp look-out for rocks.
"Keep to the left here, Neal," she directed; "that ledge runs all across the river."
"I bet those Brenton fellows will scrape going through here. Not one in a hundred would take the left. I haven't scraped once since I had the canoe. The bottom is as smooth as the day she came, and that is saying a good deal when the river is as low as it is now."
They skirted a huge oak-tree which had fallen half across the river, and, passing through some gentle rapids, reached the cleared shady spot on the bank where they were to eat their luncheon. The others soon arrived, and preparations were immediately begun for building a fire. The boys explored the neighborhood for dry sticks, and a cheerful little blaze was soon crackling away on the bank. Potatoes had been buried beneath to roast in the ashes, and the coffee-pot, filled with water from a neighboring spring, was placed above. Dennis Morgan, whose coffee was far-famed and unrivalled, superintended this part of the work.