The Rambler Club Afloat

A stout boy of pleasing appearance lay indolently in the shade of a group of willows which fringed the bank of a small brook. It was one of those early summer days when nature is all aglow and the sweet scent of the woods and fields is in the air. On this particular day, the sky was flecked with a few white clouds, which remained almost motionless in the great expanse of blue. A faint line of hills, hazy in the distance, lay to the east, and the undulating country between was dotted by occasional farmhouses.

The stout boy basking in the shade looked to be the picture of ease and contentment. He seemed to be thoroughly enjoying the chatter of the birds and the musical murmur of the brook, as it joyously babbled along in its course.

"Oh, ho!" he exclaimed, half aloud. "How glorious to think of--no more school for two months; no dry books to make one's head ache, or lectures on the sins of idleness. I call this fine!"

A particularly large and inquisitive bee, buzzing unpleasantly near his head, caused him to shift his position slightly.

"Summer before us," he continued; "boating, fishing and all kinds of sport--it's the best time of the year."

He had closed his eyes, as if in contemplation of the glorious prospect before him, when the sound of a step arrested his attention.

"Hello, Dave Brandon!" exclaimed a cheery voice. "I thought I should find you here."

It was a boy of about sixteen who had stepped into view. He eyed the recumbent figure quizzically.

There was a striking difference between the appearance of the two boys, as the new-comer was lithe and his every movement denoted an active temperament.

"I say, Dave, were you born lazy, or did you acquire it by practice?" he inquired, good-naturedly.

David Brandon yawned prodigiously and stretched. "I don't know, Sam," he answered, with a twinkle in his eye; "but, at the present moment, I do feel most uncommonly like taking a nap."

"I don't doubt it," laughed the other; "but perhaps I have some news that will wake you up."

"Some news, eh?" echoed Dave, with provoking indifference. "Some news--perhaps that Professor Hopkins is going to have a summer school, and wants us to join."

He put on such a comical look of pretended dismay that Sam Randall burst out laughing.

"No, Dave, nothing like that, it's the finest thing. Why I--"

"Must be," yawned Dave. "Say, can't you chase that bee away? It keeps buzzing around my head and wakes me up."

"Yes, it's the best scheme that was ever thought of," continued Sam, without heeding the interruption. "What do you think--"

"That the afternoon will be over before you tell me," said Dave, lazily.

He once more moved a very short distance, this time because the rays of the sun were beginning to creep around the willows.

"Well, listen, Dave," persisted the other, and his voice was earnest; "I'm almost bubbling over with enthusiasm; Bob Somers is going to form--"

"Wish he was here, trying to catch that bee."

"Well, I must say--"

"Must say what?" repeated Dave, with provoking slowness. "It is an awful nuisance to have a great big insect buzzing close to your ear. Aren't you going to chase it away for me?"

"I declare! You seem to take an intense interest in what I am going to say; here I've been waiting all afternoon to find you, and can't get in a word edgewise."

Dave rubbed his eyes, and looked as if he didn't hear a word. "Do you know, Sam," he drawled, "this brook always makes me think of Bryant's poem, 'The Green River.'

"'Yet pure its waters--its shallows are bright With colored pebbles and sparkles of light And clear the depths where its eddies play And dimples deepen and whirl away.'

Ever read it, Sam? I'd advise you to; then it goes on like this:

"'And the plane tree's speckled arms o'ershoot--'"

"Well, Dave Brandon, I've a good mind not to tell you."

"Then don't," said the stout boy, in pretended anger.

"'The swifter current that mines its root.'"

"This is the last attempt I'm going to make," was Sam Randall's rejoinder. "You are certainly not lazy when it comes to interrupting a fellow--now listen; Bob Somers--mind you, Bob Somers, is going to form a club, a hunting and fishing club. I'm in it; so is Dick Travers and Tom Clifton--and you're going to join, of course!"

"A hunting and fishing club!"

Dave forsook his recumbent position and sat up with an alacrity that showed how fast he could move if the occasion demanded. "Am I going to join? Well, I guess so." Then he added, after a moment's hesitation, as he again settled languidly on the greensward: "Provided there isn't any hard work connected with it. A fellow can't keep going like a steam engine both winter and summer. Sam, I feel most uncommonly like taking a nap."

"Well, it is just what you are not going to do," declared his friend, emphatically. "I told Bob Somers that we would both be on hand at three o'clock this afternoon to talk the matter over."

"It seems I can never get any rest," grumbled Dave. "I could just lie here all day and listen to the birds. They make me think of the line--"

"Dave Brandon," said Sam, hastily, as he seized his friend's coat sleeve, "get right up! The club is about to be organized, officers elected and--"

"Leave it till to-morrow," said Dave, coaxingly.

"No, sir!"

"Very well, I suppose I'll have to go. It was the bee that made me sleepy, by spoiling a nice little nap."