Jonathan, gradually adjusting himself to the turn of things, stood his rod up against the bush with the meticulous care of the true [pg 131] sportsman. “Where did you leave yours?” he asked, with a suspiciousness born of a deep knowledge of my character.
“Oh, down by the bars.”
“Standing up or lying down?”
“Lying down, I think. It’s all right.”
“It’s not all right if it’s lying down. Anything might trample on it.”
“For instance, what?—birds or crickets?”
“For instance, people or cows.” He strode down the hill, and I saw him stoop. As he returned I could read disapproval in his gait. “Will you never learn how to treat a rod! It was lying just beyond the bars. I must have landed within two feet of it when I jumped over.”
“I’m sorry. I meant to go back. I know perfectly how to treat a rod. My trouble comes in knowing when to apply my knowledge.… Well, let’s go up there. Near those big hemlocks there’s some, I remember.” And we wandered on, separating a little to scan the ground more widely.
Once having pried his mind away from the trout, Jonathan was as keen for arbutus as I could wish, and soon I heard an exclamation, [pg 132] and saw him kneel. “Oh, come over!” he called; “you really ought to see this growing!”
“But there’s some I want, right here, that’s lovely—”