Part 11 (1/2)

A little shriek of laughter burst from Junkie on hearing this.

”What are ye laughin' at, honey?” asked Quin.

”At you not bein' able to sleep for the rats!” returned the boy. ”It's the way with everybody who comes to stay with us, at first, but they get used to it at last.”

”Are the rats then so numerous?” asked Jackman.

”Swarmin', all over! Haven't you heard them yet?”

”Well, yes, I heard them scampering soon after I went to bed, but I thought it was kittens at play in the room overhead, and soon went to sleep. But they don't come into the rooms, do they?”

”Oh, no--I only wish they would! Wouldn't we have a jolly hunt if they did? But they scuttle about the walls inside, and between the ceilings and the floors. And you can't frighten them. The only thing that scared them once was the bag-pipes. An old piper came to the house one day and played a great deal, and we heard nothing more of the rats for two or three weeks after that.”

”Sensible bastes,” remarked Quin, handing the rod to his master; ”an' a sign, too, that they've got some notion o' music.”

”Why, Quin, I thought you had bag-pipes in Ireland,” said Jackman, as he fastened a large fly to his line.

”An' that's what we have, sor; but the Irish pipes are soft, mellow, gentle things--like the Irish girls--not like them big Scotch bellows that screech for all the world like a thousand unwillin' pigs bein'

forced to go to markit.”

”True, Quin; there's something in that. Now then, both of you stand close to me--a little behind--so; it's the safest place if you don't want to be hooked, and be ready with the gaff, Junkie,” said the fisher, as he turned a critical eye on the water, and made a fine cast over what he deemed the most likely part of the pool.

”Father never rose a fish there,” said Junkie, with a demure look.

The fisher paid no attention to the remark, but continued to cast a little lower down stream each time.

”You're gettin' near the bit now,” said Junkie, in the tone of one whose expectations are awakened.

”Th-there! That's him!”

”Ay, and a good one, too,” exclaimed Jackman, as a fan-like tail disappeared with a heavy splash. Again the fisher cast, with the same result.

”He's only playin' wi' the fly,” said Junkie in a tone of disappointment.

”That's often the way--no!--th-there! Got 'im!”

The rod bent like a hoop at that moment; the reel spun round to its own merry music, as the line flew out, and the fish finished its first wild rush with a leap of three feet into the air.

”Hooray!” yelled Junkie, now fairly aflame, as he jumped like the fish, flourished the big hook round his head, and gaffed Quin by the lappet of his coat!

”Have a care, you spalpeen,” shouted the Irishman, grasping the excited youngster by the collar and disengaging himself from the hook. ”Sure it might have been me nose as well as me coat, an' a purty objec' that would have made me!”

Junkie heeded not. When released he ran toward Jackman who was struggling skilfully with the fish.

”Don't let him take you down the rapid,” he shouted. ”There's no good place for landin' him there. Hold on, an' bring 'im up if you can.

Hi!”

This last exclamation was caused by another rush of the fish. Jackman had wound up his line as far as possible, and was in hopes of inducing the salmon to ascend the stream, for he had run perilously near to the head of the rapid against which the boy had just warned him. But to this the fish objected, and, finding that the fisher was obstinate, had, as we have said, made a sudden rush across the pool, causing the reel to spin furiously as the line ran out, and finis.h.i.+ng off with another splendid jump.

”A few more bursts like that will soon exhaust him,” said Jackman, as he wound in the line again and drew the fish steadily towards him.