“Pretty enough,” said Gypsy, affecting carelessness, and trying to unwind her line in as au fait and boyish a manner as possible.
“You girls keep this pool. Mr. Hallam and I are going a little ways up stream,” said Tom. “Now don’t speak a word, and be sure you don’t scream if you catch a fish by any chance between you, and frighten them all away.”
“As if I didn’t know that! Here, Sarah, hold your rod lower,” said Gypsy, assuming a professional air. Mr. Hallam and Tom walked away, and the girls fished for just half an hour in silence. That is to say, they sat on the bank, and held a rod. Sarah had had one faint nibble, but that was all that had happened, and the sun began to be very warm.
“I’m going out on those stones,” said Gypsy. “I believe I see a fish out there.”
So she stepped out carefully on the loose stones, which tilted ominously under her weight.
“Oh, you’ll fall!” said Sarah.
“Hush—sh! I see one.”
Up went the rod in the air with a jerk, over went the stone, and down went Gypsy. She disappeared from sight a moment in the shallow water; then splashed up with a gasp, and stood, dripping.
“Oh, dear me!” said Sarah.
Tom came up, undecided whether to laugh or scold.