“Here, stop that,” cried Gwyn. “What are you doing?”
The man turned upon them, scowling.
“Hullo!” he said; “aren’t you gone? What are you waiting for?”
“To know what you’re doing on our property.”
“Your property!” said the man, scornfully. “Can’t you see what I’m doing? Fishing.”
“Fishing?” cried Joe, who felt staggered, and began wondering whether there might be any underground communication with the sea, through which some of the huge eels of the rocky cove might have made their way.
“Yes, fishing,” growled the man. “Don’t make that row, because I’ve got one at me. Be off!”
“Nonsense!” cried Gwyn, sharply. “There are no fish there.”
“How do you know, youngster?” said the man. “Ever tried?”
“No,” replied Gwyn; “but I do know that there are no fish in a hole like that.”