“Why not fish down the garden; there’s a capital place.”
“All right,” said Dexter. “I’ll go there. But I want a rod and line.”
“There is an old rod in the hall, and you can buy a line. No, Helen is going out, and she will buy you one.”
Dexter’s eyes glistened at the idea of going fishing, and he set to work most industriously at the copying, which in due time he handed over to the Doctor, who expressed himself as highly satisfied: though if he really was, he was easily pleased.
Helen had received her instructions, and she soon afterwards returned with the fishing-line, and a fair supply of extra hooks, and odds and ends, which the doctor, as an old angler, had suggested.
“These—all for me!” cried the boy joyfully.
The doctor nodded.
“Recollect: no mischief, and don’t tumble in.”
“All right, sir,” cried the boy, who was gloating over the new silk line, with its cork float glistening in blue and white paint brought well up with varnish.
“Do you know how to fish!”