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.