CHAPTER IV.
Fish or Fowl for Supper.
It would take too long to tell you of all the things which happened in our den. Little bits of fun which would sound nothing to you, were great events in my life. I had lived so long on my invalid couch that both griefs and joys were intensified to me.
I was too young to think such things; but if I had been older I should have asked myself very often, "Is this the same me that used to lie reading for hours, and never left his sofa if he could help it?" Why, I actually had forgotten to see what became of Rupert among the Redskins. My four cousins were all so busy making the most of their holidays that I didn't seem to have time to breathe. Whatever they did, Edric must at least look on—if he would help, so much the better; so it ended in my seeing very little of my parents. Father still persisted in refusing to let the young savages have meals with him, though I felt sure, from the look he gave them when he happened to peep in our room, that he was getting to like them; and I overheard him once say to mother: "Our laddie looks fatter and brighter; I suppose it's those young scamps' doings. I wish they had come before."
"I'm sure they have done him good," said mother, heartily; "and they have done no harm to anyone, in spite of all the mischief you prophesied."
"Wait and see," said father, grimly. "That young Jack reminds me of a volcano; it looks quiet enough one minute, but it may swallow you up the next. If they get through the holidays without an eruption, I'll give them a sovereign between them when I drive them to Colchester."
Sudden news from London took father away that very evening, and hastened the explosion which he had prophesied.
"Now, what shall we do this afternoon?" said Rupert the next day, when dinner was over and I had been carried by my two faithful bearers into the den.
"I vote we go fishing," said Jack, proceeding to inspect my fishing rod and line. "We have been here a fortnight and haven't been fishing once. What do you say, captain? Shall we be like the monks who hid in the old water mill, and fish for our dinner? What's the matter? you look quite glum."
"Of course he does," said Kathleen; "he doesn't wish to be left alone. I'll stay with you, Edric."
"Why shouldn't he go, too?" suggested Harold. "It's a regular tub of a boat, rather different from the one we had at Sydney."