“Yes, do, my boy; and if you find an addled egg or two, save them for me. Bring then on, and we’ll blow them.”
“I will,” said the lad, smiling.—“Don’t be hard on me, Master Rayburn.”
“Eh? No, no, my boy; but I can’t help being a bit put out sometimes. Coming down this evening, were you? Do. I’ll save you a couple of grayling for supper—if I catch any,” he added, with a smile.
“May I come?”
“Of course. Come early, my boy. I’ve a lot of things to show you that I’ve found since you were at home, and we’ll plan out some reading, eh? Mustn’t go back and get rusty, because you are at home. We’ll read a great deal, and then you won’t have time to think about knocking Ralph Darley’s brains out—if he has any. You haven’t much, or you wouldn’t help to keep up this feud.”
“Oh, please don’t say any more about that, Master Rayburn.”
“Not a word, boy. Must go on—a beautiful worm morning.”
The old man turned his back again.
“Don’t be late,” he cried; and he waded onward, stooping, and looking more humped and comical than ever, as he bent forward to throw his bait into likely places, while Mark Eden went onward down-stream.
“I like old Master Rayburn,” he said to himself; “but I wish he wouldn’t be so bitter about the old trouble. It isn’t our fault. Father would be only too glad to shake hands and be friends, if the Darleys were only nice, instead of being such savage beasts.”