The figure, cut off, as it were, at the knees, looked particularly short and stout, humped like a camel, by the creel swung behind to be out of the way. His dress was a rusty brown doublet, with puffed-out breeches beneath, descending half-way down the thigh, and then all was bare. A steeple-crowned, broad-brimmed hat, from beneath which hung an abundance of slightly-curling silvery hair, completed the figure at which Mark Eden gazed, unseen; for the old man was intent upon his fishing, and just then he struck, and after a little playing, drew in and unhooked a finely-spotted trout, which he was about to transfer to his basket, when he was checked by a greeting from the back.
“Morning, Master Rayburn. That’s a fine one.”
“Ah, Mark, boy, how are you?” said the old man, smiling. “Yes: I’ve got his brother in the basket, and I want two more. Better come and help me to eat them.”
“Can’t to-day.—Quite well?”
“Yes, thank God, boy. Well for an old man. I heard you were back from school. How’s that?”
“Bad fever there. All sent home.”
“That’s sad. Ought to be at work, boy. Better come and read with me.”
“Well, I will sometimes, sir.”
“Come often, my boy; keep you out of mischief.”
“Oh, I shan’t get into mischief, sir.”