“Shall we catch him, Dave?”
“Mebbe yes; mebbe no, my lad. If he wants his dinner, and we sets it down by his door stoop, he’ll tek it. If he’s hed his dinner he wean’t touch it.”
“Then let’s make haste and get there before dinnertime,” cried Tom. “Pole away, Dave.”
“Nay, we’ve got to go quiet-like, my lad. We don’t want to scare the fish, and send ’em to the bottom to lie sulky. Nice wisp o’ duck yon.”
He nodded to a long string of wild-fowl flying low over the melancholy-looking water, and they were watched till they disappeared.
“Caught any more in the ’coy, Dave?” asked Dick.
“Few, lad, few. Not enew to tek’ to market. Me and John Warren sent ’em wi’ the rabbits.”
“Ah! he promised us a day with the ferrets. Let’s stir him up, Tom. Now, Dave, do let’s begin.”
The man shook his head and smiled as if he were enjoying the tantalising process he put the boys through, and kept on poling till they were quite a couple of miles from the Toft, when he suddenly laid down his long pole, and seated himself in the boat by the big basket.
“Now,” he said, “if you want to see you shall see;” and he began to take out carefully so many short fishing-lines, the hook in each case being carefully stuck in between the osiers so as not to catch. To every one of these lines was attached a bladder, save and except four, which were bound to as many black and compressed pieces of cork, which looked as if they had been washed ashore after doing duty as buoys to some fishermen’s nets.