It even induced Tom to abandon his
leisurely attitude and "rustle" the good things out of the basket. They
made a royal meal and feasted so full and long that, when at last old
Nature simply balked at more, they had no desire to do anything but lie
back lazily and revel in the sheer delight of living.
"If I've an enemy on earth, I forgive him," sighed Dick blissfully.
"Old Walt Whitman's my favorite poet," said Tom. "Isn't he the fellow
that tells you to 'loaf and invite your soul'?"
"Soul," grunted Bert disdainfully. "You haven't any soul. Just now you're
all body."
"Always pickin' on me," groaned Tom resignedly.
In complete abandonment to their sense of well being they drew their hats
over their eyes and stretched out under the shadow of the trees that came
down almost to the water's edge. A brooding peace enveloped them, and the
droning of insects and the faint lapping of the water on the shore lulled
them into drowsiness. Insensibly they lapsed into slumber.
A half hour passed before Bert started up and rubbed his eyes. It took
him a moment to realize where he was.
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