"Beneath the forest's skirt I rest,
Whose branching pines rise dark and high,
And hear the breezes of the West
Among the thread-like foliage sigh."
"I'm hungry as a bear," interrupted the more practical Dick Travers.
Dave closed the book. "Always the material pleasures," he said, with comical severity. "But since the Pirates favor us by their absence, it might be a good plan to lunch."
Accordingly, the prow of the "Rambler" was turned shoreward, and the boat was soon snugly ensconced by the side of a little bank, and in the midst of a profusion of aquatic leaves and tall grasses.
Dick Travers and Sam Randall, guns in hand, scrambled on shore, while Tom lighted the stove and began his culinary duties.
The tin dishes were soon in place on an improvised table of boards, and nothing remained but to await the pleasure of the cook.
It was remarked that Tom did not set about his self-imposed task with any degree of assurance. In a short time, a couple of pots were steaming merrily away, and a rather strange odor began to pervade the air.