“Well, my boy, it was all my fault for making such a fuss about a few salmon. William Solly had the insolence to tell me I made a trouble about nothing, and wanted a real one to do me good. This has been a real one, Nic, and I’ve suffered bitterly.”
“But there’s fair weather ahead, father.”
“Please God, my boy,” said the old man piously, and with his voice trembling, “and—and there, Nic, I’ve got you back again, and you will get well, my boy—you will get well, won’t you?”
“Fast, father,” replied Nic, pressing the old man’s hand.
Nic did mend rapidly in the rest and quiet of his old home, where one day Captain Lawrence, newly returned from a long voyage, came to see his old friend, and heard Nic’s adventures to the end.
“A bitter experience, my dear boy,” he said; “but let’s look to the future now: never mind the past.”
But one day, when the convalescents had been for two months drinking in the grand old Devon air, Nic was rambling through the combe with Pete, both pretty well strong again, when the latter said:
“I want to be zet to work now, Master Nic, or to be zent away; for I feel as if I ought to be doing zomething, instead of idling about here.”
“You’ve talked like that before, Pete,” said Nic, smiling. “Have a little patience, and then you shall begin.”
“But it zeems zo long, zir. I zay, though, it’s rather queer, isn’t it, for me to be water bailiff and keeper over the vish as I used to take. Think Humpy Dee and them others will get away and come back again?”