FELIX had scarcely worked half an hour before Oliver returned and threw himself on the ground at full length. He had wearied of fishing, the delicate adjustment of the tackle and the care necessary to keep the hook and line from catching in the branches had quickly proved too much for his patience. He lay on the grass, his feet towards the stream which ran and bubbled beneath, and watched Felix chipping out the block intended to fit into the secret opening or locker.

‘It is nearly finished, then?’ he said presently. ‘What a time you have been at it!’

‘Nearly three months.’

‘Why did you make it so big? It is too big.’

‘Is it really? Perhaps I want to put some things in it.’

‘Oh, I see; cargo. But where are you going to launch it?’

‘Below the stones there.’

‘Well, you won't be able to go far; there's an old fir across the river down yonder, and a hollow willow has fallen in. Besides, the stream's too shallow; you'll take ground before you get half a mile.’

‘Shall I?’

‘Of course you will. That boat will float six inches deep by herself, and I'm sure there's not six inches by the Thorns.’

‘Very awkward.’

‘Why didn't you have a hide boat made, with a willow framework and leather cover? Then you might perhaps get down the river by hauling it past the shallows and the fallen trees. In two days’ time you would be in the hands of the gipsies.’

‘And you would be Sir Constans’ heir!’

‘Now, come, I say; that's too bad. You know I didn't mean that. Besides, I think I'm as much his heir as you now’ (looking at his sinewy arm); ‘at least, he doesn't listen much to you. I mean, the river runs into the gipsies’ country as straight as it can go.’

‘Just so.’

‘Well, you seem very cool about it!’

‘I am not going down the river.’

‘Then, where are you going?’

‘On the Lake.’