Part 19 (1/2)
”It iss not easy, but I'll try,” said he.
Donald could say no more. The best of men or boys could do no more than try. We may as well say here at once, however, that his efforts at self-control were crowned with success. He proved himself to be a great man in embryo by ruling his own spirit that day.
In a few minutes the trout was landed by means of a miniature gaff, which the fisher carried in his basket, for the purpose of securing fish that were too heavy to be pulled out by the line. It was afterwards found to be a two-and-a-half pounder, which, being an unusually good fish for that stream, was the occasion of much rejoicing on the part of the old gentleman, as he stood wiping his forehead and commenting on it.
”Capital! Not had such a fellow as that for more than a week. There's more where that came from; but you must give the pool a rest, d.i.c.k. Try the run higher up.”
In obedience to his own orders, MacRummle went up to a part of the stream where a high cliff on one side and a steepish bank on the other caused it to flow in a deep channel, not much more than a couple of yards wide. At the head of the run was a ledge where fish were invariably captured. Towards this spot the old man hurried eagerly.
The two boys lay still in the heather, allowed him to pa.s.s, and then softly followed, bending low, and keeping as much as possible behind bushes and in hollows, until they were again close upon him. Ensconcing themselves in a convenient ma.s.s of heather, they raised their heads and saw the fisher stepping carefully from rock to rock, as he approached the run.
Rounded boulders, large or small, are never safe to walk on, even for the young and active. MacRummle found it so. His foot slipped, and he sat down, with undignified haste, in a small pool of water.
Down went the boys' heads, that they might explode their laughter as softly as possible among the roots of the heather.
”Wa.s.s it not funny?” whispered Donald.
”I hope he's not hurt,” replied Junkie, raising his head cautiously.
He saw that MacRummle had risen, and, with a rueful expression of face, was making insane and futile efforts to look at himself behind. A beaming smile overspread the boy's face as he glanced at his companion, for he knew well that the old gentleman cared little or nothing for water. And this was obviously the case, for, after squeezing as much water out of his nether garments as chose to come, he proceeded to the head of the runs and resumed fis.h.i.+ng.
”I'm beginnin' to see through't,” murmured Junkie, after watching for some time. ”See! he has hooked another. Ye see, Tonal', it must be lettin' the hook drift away down under the ledges that does it. Look!
He's got 'im!”
”I'm thinking ye are right, Junkie. An' the creat thing to know iss where the ledges lie. He keeps well back from the watter also. There maun be somethin' in that, what-e-ver. Ye wull be tryin' it yoursel'
the morn, maype.”
To this Junkie vouchsafed no reply, for the fisher, having secured his fish, was proceeding further up stream. When he was sufficiently far in advance, the boys rose to their feet, and again followed him.
Thus the trio occupied themselves all the forenoon--MacRummle gradually filling his basket with fine sea-trout, Junkie storing his inquisitive mind with piscatorial knowledge and ”dodges,” and Donald enjoying himself in the mere act of wallowing about in heather and suns.h.i.+ne.
About noon MacRummle suddenly ceased to gaze intently on the water, and placed his hand upon his waistcoat.
”Time, d.i.c.k?” he murmured, pulling out his watch. ”I knew it. Commend me to nature. It's the best time-keeper, after all--needs no regulating.”
He was wrong, as was frequently the case, but it mattered little, for there was no one to contradict him.
”Let me see,” he muttered, taking off his basket, and drawing a newspaper parcel from the pocket of his coat--in which operation he was induced by memory to make a last futile attempt to see himself behind--”what have they put up for me?”
The parcel, when opened, disclosed a tempting pile of meat sandwiches.
The old gentleman spread them out on a flattish boulder, which served as an admirable table.
Having leaned his rod against a tree, he emptied the basket on a gra.s.sy spot, and arranged the silver bars in a row. Then he sat down on his basket beside the table, and gave himself up to food and contemplation.
”A goodly row,” he muttered, as well as the ham sandwich would let him.
”Not a bad beginning; and such a splendid dish. There's comfort in that, for I hate useless work of any kind. A sort of an ill.u.s.tration, this, of the fitness of things!”
Apparently the peculiar unfitness of simultaneous mastication and speech struck him, for he paused a few moments, then continued,--”Yes, fitness.
Supplies for the table absolutely needed. Healthy exercise a consequence. Result, felicity!”