"What happened then?"
"They were taken off to the Rectory by old Mr. Rogers, who died last year. And in the nick of time Lord Glengall, whom everyone said was dead, turned up safe and sound to nurse his old mother. 'I kept the things together for you, my boy,' she said as soon as she recognised him.
"And the next thing she said," went on Sylvia, taking up the tale, "was, 'Where's that cat?' The faithfulness of animals, Sir Anthony! Old Tib, with whom they had shared all their short-commons, had, it seems, stolen the very last drop of milk that stood between them and starvation, and had then escaped through a window into the woods. 'I should like to give him a good hiding before I die.' That was the second speech of the indomitable old lady."
"What a chance for the novelist this country of yours presents!" said Sir Anthony.
"But that fortunately he never comes our way," replied Pamela.
"Your father promised me you would take me fishing one day." He spoke to Sylvia, but his eyes turned from her to Pamela.
"So we shall," said Sylvia readily.
"The river runs quite close to the house?"
"Yes, but if you want the pleasantest fishing, you must climb for it. Up there in the hills are little golden-brown trout-streams running through the valleys under the shadow of woods, and they are full of trout spoiling to be caught."
"You know the best places, Miss Sylvia."