The “hooking up” accomplished, David, laden with a tin pail in each hand and carrying in his pocket a drawing of black tea for his mother to sample, made his way through sheep-dotted pastures to Beechum’s woods, and thence along the bank of the River Rood. Presently he spied a young man standing knee-deep in the stream in the patient pose peculiar to fishermen.
“Catch anything?” called David eagerly.
The man turned and came to shore. He wore rubber hip boots, dark trousers, a blue flannel shirt, and a wide-brimmed hat. His eyes, blue and straight-gazing, rested reminiscently upon the lad.
“No,” he replied calmly. “I didn’t intend to catch anything. What is your name?”
“David Dunne.”
The man meditated.
“You must be about twelve years old.”
“How did you know?”
“I am a good guesser. What have you got in your pail?” 20
“Which one?”