Bob soon returned with a wine bottle full of milk and half a loaf, and a great pat of b.u.t.ter of golden yellow, with a wonderful cow printed upon it, the b.u.t.ter being wrapped in a rhubarb leaf, and the bread swung in Bob's dirty neckerchief.

"Here y'are!" he cried, as he stepped into the boat and pushed off quickly, as if he felt safer when they were on the move. "We'll go lower down, and then I'll show you such a game."

"Let's have some bread and b.u.t.ter first," said Dexter.

"No, we won't; not till we get further away. We'll get some fish first and light a fire and cook 'em, and--pull away--I'll show yer."

Dexter obeyed; but his curiosity was excited.

"Going to catch some more fish!"

"You wait and you'll see," was the reply; and in the expectation of a hearty meal matters looked more bright, especially as the day was glorious, and the scenery beautiful all round.

No signs of pursuit being seen, Dexter was ready to laugh with his companion now.

"I knew all the time," said Bob, with superior wisdom in every intonation of his voice; "I should only have liked to see them come."

Dexter said nothing, and the next minute, as they were in a curve of the river, where it flowed dark and deep, they ran the boat in once more beside a meadow edged with pollard willows.

"Now then, I'll show you some fishing," cried Bob, as he secured the boat.

"No, not now: let's have something to eat first," protested Dexter.

"Just you look here, young un, I'm captain," cried Bob. "Do you know what cray-fish are!"

Dexter shook his head.

"Well, then, I'm just going to show yer."

The water was about two feet deep, and ran slowly along by a perpendicular clayey bank on the side where they were, and, deliberately undressing, Bob let himself down into the river, and then began to grope along by the side, stooping from time to time to thrust his hand into some hole.

"Here, undo that chain, and let her drift by me," he cried. "I shall fish all along here."

Dexter obeyed--it seemed to be his fate to obey; and taking the boat-hook he held on easily enough by tree after tree, for there was scarcely any stream here, watching intently the while, as Bob kept on thrusting his hand into some hole.

"Oh!" cried Bob suddenly, as he leaned down as far as he could reach, and then rose slowly.

"Got one?"

"No: I missed him. It was an eel; I just felt him, and then he dodged back. Such a big un! They're so jolly hard to hold."

This was exciting, and now Dexter began for the first time to be glad that he had come.

"I've got him now!" cried Bob excitedly; and, rising from a stooping position, in which his shoulder was right underneath, he threw a dingy-looking little fresh-water lobster into the boat.

Dexter examined it wonderingly, and was favoured with a nip from its claws for his attention.

"Here's another," said Bob, and he threw one much larger into the boat, its h.o.r.n.y sh.e.l.l rattling on the bottom.

"Are they good to eat?" said Dexter.

"Good to eat? Why, they're lovely. You wait a bit. And, I say, you look how I do it; I shall make you always catch these here, so you've got to learn."

Dexter paid attention to the process, and felt that there was not much to learn: only to find out a hole--the burrow of the cray-fish,--and then thrust in his hand, and, if the little crustacean were at home, pull it out. The process was soon learned, but the temptation to begin was not great.

Bob evidently found the sport exciting, however, for he searched away with more or less success, and very soon there were a dozen cray-fish of various sizes crawling about the bottom of the boat.

"There's thousands of them here," cried Bob, as he searched away all along beneath the steep bank, which was full of holes, some being the homes of rats, some those of the cray-fish, and others of eels which he touched twice over--in one case for the slimy fish to back further in, but in the other, for it to make a rush out into the open water, and swim rapidly away.

The pursuit of the cray-fish lasted till the row of willows came to an end, and with them the steep bank, the river spreading out again, and becoming stony and shallow.

"How many are there?" said Bob, as he climbed out upon the gra.s.s, after washing his clayey arm.

"Twenty-one," said Dexter.

"Ah, just you wait a bit till I'm dressed."

Bob said no more, but indulged in a natural towel. That is to say, he had a roll on the warm gra.s.s, and then rose and ran to and fro in the glowing sunshine for about five minutes, after which he rapidly slipped on his things, which were handed to him from the boat.

"Now," he cried, as he stepped in once more and seized an oar, "I'll show you something."

They rowed on for some distance, till a suitable spot was found at the edge of a low, scrubby oak wood which ran up a high bank.

The place was extremely solitary. There was plenty of wood, and as soon as the boat had been moored Dexter was set to work collecting the sticks in a heap, close up to where there was a steep bare piece of stony bank, and in a few minutes the dry leaves and gra.s.s first collected caught fire, then the twigs, and soon a good glowing fire was burning.

The bread and b.u.t.ter and bottle of milk were stood on one side, and close by them there was a peculiar noise made by the unhappy cray-fish which were tied up in Bob's neckerchief, from which the bread had been released.

"Going to cook 'em!" he said; "in course I am. Wait a bit and I'll show yer. I say! this is something like a place, ain't it!"

Dexter agreed that it was, for it was a sylvan nook which a lover of picnics would have considered perfect, the stream ran swiftly by, a few yards away the stony bank rose up, dotted with patches of brown furze and heath, nearly perpendicularly above their heads, and on either side they were shut in by trees and great mossy stones.

The fire burned brightly, and sent up clouds of smoke, which excited dread in Dexter's breast for a few moments, but the fear was forgotten directly in the antic.i.p.ation of the coming feast, in preparation for which Bob kept on adding to the central flame the burnt-through pieces of dead wood, while Dexter from time to time fetched more from the ample store beneath the trees, and broke them off ready for his chief.

"What are you going to do, Bob!" he said at last.

"Going to do? You want to know too much."

"Well, I'm so hungry."

"Well, I'll tell yer. I'm going to roast them cray-fish, that's what I'm going to do."

"How are you going to kill them!"

"Going to kill 'em? I ain't going to kill 'em."

"But you won't roast them alive."

"Won't I? Just you wait till there's plenty of hot ashes and you'll see."