Pierre was heavier but more practiced than his mate, and in a few seconds the two stood together on the shore, regarding the ruins of their boat and thinking of what they would not have for supper.
All at once Pierre’s eye brightened.
“Say! there’s been a camp here. Not so long ago, either. See that barrel in the brush? There’s an old birch shed yonder. Hurrah!”
They did not linger, though Adrian kept hoping that something from their lost outfit might be tossed outward toward them, even as Pierre had been; but nothing came in sight, and he reached the dilapidated shed only a few feet behind the other.
“There’s a bed left still, but not such a soft one. And there’s pork in that barrel. Wonder the hedgehogs haven’t found it.”
But as Pierre thrust his nose into the depths of the cask he understood the reason of its safety.
“Whew! even a porkypine wouldn’t touch that. Never mind. Reckon our boots’ll need greasing after that ducking, or mine will, and it’ll answer. Anything under the shed?”
“Don’t see anything. Wait. Yes, I do. A canvas bag hung up high. Must have been forgotten when the campers left, for they took everything else. Clean sweep. Hurrah! it’s beans!”
“Good! Beans are good fodder for hungry cattle.”
“How can you eat such hard things? Should think they’d been resurrected from the pyramids.”