“I suppose not, sir. You were too intent. Don’t they bite?”
“No, not a bit,” said Nic gruffly; and to himself, “I wish he’d go.”
“What are you fishing with, sir?”
“Worms.”
“They will only take worms after a flood, when the water’s thick.”
Then without a word the man walked away, and Nic drew his line sharply from the water.
“Might have told me what bait they would take,” muttered the boy. “Perhaps he doesn’t know. Wish I had brought some paste. I don’t care; that’s good enough bait for anything. Now, here, some of you—bite.”
But they did not, and Nic sat upon a great stone, feeling rather ill-used. He was glad the convict had gone, and at the same time sorry.
“I suppose I answered him very gruffly, and that sent him off,” thought Nic.
“Now, sir. I’ve caught a few of these.”