However, as has been truly said, a common danger is often a common blessing. And it turned out so in the present case. The mutinous "paupers" brought their arguments on the bank to a close; and it was decided for the rest of the way to attach the _Firefly_ officially to the _Sarah_, and allow the seven tugs to pull the lot. They were quite sufficiently alive to their own interests to see each pulled his fair share; and the progress we made, although not racing speed, was, compared at any rate with our bad quarter of an hour in the bulrushes, satisfactory. No further adventure happened till Langrish pointed to a wooded hill a quarter of a mile further up stream, and said-- "That's Camp Hill. Jump in, you chaps, and row." Whereupon the tugs, glad to be relieved, came on board, the two boats cast loose, and the oars were put out. "Botheration," said Trimble; "there's a boat ahead of us." "Only some fisherman--he won't hurt," said Langrish. But as we approached the spot we perceived, not one boat only, but two, drawn up under the trees, and both empty. What was worse, they were Low Heath boats, and bore the name of Jorrocks on their sterns. The committee looked glum as our party stepped ashore and proceeded to make fast our boats to the trees. "Why can't Jorrocks send his excursionists somewhere else?" growled Langrish; "I shouldn't wonder if they've bagged the Bottom." The Camp Hill Bottom was a curious dell among the trees, almost in the shape of a basin, with heather and gorse all round the top, and beautiful velvety grass in the hollow. For a picnic it was an ideal place: close to the water, sheltered from the wind, with plenty of room to sit round, and an expanse of delightful heath and wood behind and on either side. It was on this heath, the legend went, that one of the most furious battles in the Wars of the Roses was fought, and the Camp Hill marked the place where Earl Warwick's standard waved during the engagement. The Bottom was popularly supposed to have been hollowed out by some monks, as a burial place for the slain; but their benevolent intention had been thwarted by the swoop of a band of marauders, who preferred robbing the slain to burying them, and left most of the monks dead in their own grave. There is little sign now of this tragic story about the quiet grass- grown hollow, with its fringe of overhanging bushes and carpet of mossy velvet. Just at present, however, as we made our way to the spot, we had something more important on our minds than Earl Warwick and the unlucky monks. What if the Bottom was already bagged by a crowd of common holidaymakers, and all our carefully planned picnic was to be spoiled by their unwelcome intrusion? It was too true. As we advanced we could hear sounds of revelry and laughter, interspersed with singing and cheers. Who could it be? The voices sounded suspiciously youthful. Suppose--just suppose that the--