Promptly on time the boys were at the meeting place. They had with them everything needed for a day’s fishing, from bait and poles to a lunch for themselves, as they did not intend coming back until afternoon.
The boys tramped through the woods toward the fishing holes, which they had often visited. They were talking of the events of the previous day at school, and Ned was explaining over again how he substituted the wrong picture slide.
“Here, where are you boys going?” a voice suddenly hailed them from the bushes that lined the path they were traveling.
They looked up, to see an old man, with a white straggling beard, which fell almost to his waist, peering at them. He was half hidden by the underbrush.
“Where you going?” he repeated.
“Fishing,” replied Ned.
“Whereabouts?”
“Up at the Riffles,” said Fenn.
“Better not,” cautioned the aged person. “It’s a dangerous place.”
The man stepped forth into full view. The boys saw he was poorly dressed. His trousers were quite ragged and his coat was torn in several places. He wore no hat.