Dexter had made pets of so many creatures that he shrank from inflicting pain, and he looked on at last with something like horror as Bob untied his kerchief, shot all the cray-fish out on the heathy ground, and then, sc.r.a.ping back the glowing embers with his foot till he had left a bare patch of white ash, he rapidly thrust in the captives, which began to hiss and steam and whistle directly.

The whistling noise might easily have been interpreted to mean a cry of pain, but the heat was so great that doubtless death was instantaneous, and there was something in what the boy said in reply to Dexter's protests.

"Get out! It don't hurt 'em much."

"But you might have killed them first."

"How was I to kill 'em first?" snarled Bob, as he sat tailor fashion and poked the cray-fish into warmer places with a piece of burning stick.

"Stuck your knife into them."

"Well, wouldn't that have hurt 'em just as much?"

"Let them die before you cooked them."

"That would hurt 'em ever so much more, and took ever so much longer."

"Well I shan't like to eat them," said Dexter.

"More for me, then. I say! don't they smell good?"

Dexter had a whiff just then, and they certainly did smell tempting to a hungry boy; but he made up his mind to partake only of bread and b.u.t.ter, and kept to his determination for quite five minutes after Bob had declared the cookery complete, and picked the tiny lobsters out of the hot ashes with his burnt stick.

"They're too hot to touch yet," he said. "Wait a bit and I'll show you.

Cut the bread."

Dexter obeyed with alacrity, and was soon feasting away on what might very well be called "Boy's Delight," the honest bread and b.u.t.ter which has helped to build up our stalwart race.

Bob helped himself to a piece of bread, spread it thickly with b.u.t.ter, and, withdrawing a little way from the fire, hooked a hot cray-fish to his side, calmly picking out the largest; and as soon as he could handle it he treated it as if it were a gigantic shrimp, dividing the sh.e.l.l in the middle by pulling, and holding up the delicate hot tail, which drew easily from its armour-like case.

"Only wants a bit of salt," he cried, smacking his lips over the little _bonne bouche_, and then proceeding to pick out the contents of the claws, and as much of the body as he deemed good to eat.

Dexter looked on with a feeling of disgust, while Bob laughed at him, and finished four of the cray-fish, throwing the sh.e.l.ls over his shoulder towards the river.

Then Dexter picked up one, drew off the sh.e.l.l, smelt it, tasted it, and five minutes later he was as busy as Bob, though when they finished the whole cooking he was seven fish behind.

"Ain't they 'lishus?" cried Bob.

"Yes," said Dexter, unconsciously repeating his companion's first remark, "only want a bit of salt."

CHAPTER THIRTY FOUR.

AN AWKWARD PURSUER.

It was wonderful how different the future looked after that picnic dinner by the river-side. The bread and b.u.t.ter were perfect, and the cray-fish as delicious as the choicest prawns. The water that glided past the bank was like crystal; the evening sun lit up the scene with orange and gold; and as the two boys lolled restfully upon the bank listening to the murmur of the running water, the twitter of birds, and the distant lowing of some ox, they thoroughly appreciated everything, even the rest after their tiring night's work and toilsome day.

"Are we going on now!" said Dexter at last.

"What for?" asked Bob, as he lay upon his back, with his head in a tuft of heath.

"I don't know."

"What's the good of going on? What's the good o' being in a hurry?"

"I'm not in a hurry, only I should like to get to an island where there's plenty of fruit."

"Ah, we shan't get to one to-day!" said Bob, yawning. Then there was silence; and Dexter lay back watching the beautiful river, and the brown boat as it swung easily by its chain.

Soon a b.u.t.terfly flitted by--a beautiful orange brown b.u.t.terfly covered with dark spots, dancing here and there over the sylvan nook, and the next minute Dexter as he lay on his back felt cool, and began wondering while he looked straight up at the stars, fancying he had been called.

He felt as if he had never seen so many stars before glittering in the dark purple sky, and he began wondering how it was that one minute he had been looking at that spotted b.u.t.terfly, and the next at the stars.

And then it dawned upon him that he must have been fast asleep for many hours, and if he had felt any doubt about this being the right solution of his position a low gurgling snore on his left told that Bob Dimsted was sleeping still.

It was a novel and curious sensation that of waking up in the silence and darkness, with the leaves whispering, and that impression still upon him that he had been called.

"It must have been old Dan'l," he had thought at first. "Perhaps he was in search of them," and he listened intently. Or it might have been the men who had come upon them where they had the first fire, and they had seen this one.

"No, they couldn't see this one, for it was out."

Dexter was about to conclude that it was all imagination, when, from far away in the wood he heard, in the most startling way:--_Hoi hoi_--_hoo hoo_!

He started to his feet, and was about to waken Bob, when a great ghostly-looking bird came sweeping along the river, turned in at the nook quite low down, and then seemed to describe a curve, pa.s.sing just over his head, and uttered a wild and piercing shriek that was appalling.

Dexter's blood ran cold, as the cry seemed to thrill all down his spine, and in his horror he made a rush to run away anywhere from the terrible thing which had startled him.

But his ill luck made him once more startle Bob from his slumbers, for, as he ran blindly to reach the shelter of the wood, he fell right over the sleeping boy, and went down headlong.

"Here! I--oh, please sir, don't sir--don't sir,--it was that other boy, sir, it wasn't me, sir. It was--was--it was--why, what games are you up to now!"

"Hush! Bob. Quick! Let's run."

"Run!" said Bob excitedly, as the frightened boy clung to him. "I thought they'd come."

"Yes, they're calling to one another in the wood," whispered Dexter excitedly; "and there was a horrid something flew up, and shrieked out."

"Why, I heerd it, and dreamed it was you."

"Come away--come away!" cried Dexter. "There, hark!"

_Hoi hoi_--_hoi hoi_! came from not far away.

"Ha, ha, ha!" laughed Bob. "You are a one!" and putting his hands to his mouth, to Dexter's great astonishment he produced a very good imitation of the cry.

"Why, you'll have them hear us and come," he whispered.

"Yah! you are a coward! Why, it's an old howl."