By general consent, the former "chef" was excused from further duty.
Bob skinned and dressed one of the rabbits, and it was soon stewing over the fire. Leaving Dave Brandon to keep an eye on it, the boys marched ashore, each, of course, armed with his gun.
The pine woods proved to be a most alluring spot. The Ramblers breathed the fresh scent of the trees with pure delight. They caught a glimpse of a few chattering squirrels, and stirred up a covey of partridges, but none of their shots took effect. The thought of the rabbit stew caused them to turn back in a very short time.
On catching a glimpse of the "Rambler," they gave a merry shout, but no answering hail greeted their ears.
"That's funny," commented Bob. "I didn't think Dave would leave the boat."
"He is probably asleep," said Travers, without hesitation.
Of course this proved to be the case. The poet laureate was stretched out upon the locker, wholly oblivious of his surroundings, while the stew bubbled and sizzled, sending a most savory odor through the air.
"Wake up!" cried Bob Somers, in a heavy voice.
The stout boy, with a confused idea that he was back in school, slowly arose, rubbed his eyes, and blinked drowsily.
"Goodness, it was awful," he mumbled, with a comical grimace. "It seemed so natural—I could even see Professor Hopkins."