ces 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 butter,
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 butter which
has helped to build up our stalwart race.

Bob helped himself to a piece of bread, spread it thickly with butter,
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 shell 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 shells over his
shoulder towards the river.

Then Dexter picked up one, drew off the shell, 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 butter 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