“No,” I said; “I don’t think I had a bite.”
“Not you. Just you wait a bit, I’ll take you fishing. There’s the river where old Rebble goes, and the mill-pond where old Martin gives me leave, and a big old hammer pond out in the middle of General Rye’s woods where nobody gives me leave, but I go. It’s full of great carp and tench and eels big as boa-constrictors.”
“Oh, come!” I said.
“I didn’t say big boa-constrictors, did I? there’s little ones, I daresay. Here we are. That’s Magglin—didn’t know he was here to-day.”
He pointed out a rough, shambling-looking young man down the great kitchen garden into which he had led me. This gentleman was in his coat, and he was apparently busy doing nothing with a hoe, upon which he rested himself, and took off a very ragged fur cap to wipe his brow as we came up, saluting us with a broad grin.
“Hallo, Magg! you here? This is the new boy, Burr.”
“Nay,” said the man in a harsh, saw-sharpening voice, “think I don’t know better than that? That aren’t Master Burr.”
“No, not that one. This is the new one. This is Burr junior.”
“Oh, I see,” said the man. “Mornin’, Mr Burr juner. Hope I see you well, sir?”
“Oh, he’s all right,” said Mercer. “Give him a penny to buy a screw of tobacco, Frank.”