“Oh,” said Aunt Hannah, “I understand,” which can only be looked upon as a very innocent fib.
Meanwhile Vane had hurried down to the mill, for five pounds does not go very far in mechanism, and there would be none to spare for the purchase of a boat.
“Hallo, squire,” roared the miller, who saw him as he approached the little bridge, “you’re too late.”
“What for—going out?”
“Going out? What, with all this water on hand. Nay, lad, mak’ your hay while the sun shines. Deal o’ grinding to do a day like this.”
“Then why did you say I was too late?” said Vane.
“For the eels running. They weer coming down fast enew last night. Got the eel trap half full. Come and look.”
He led the way down through a flap in the floor to where, in a cellar-like place close to the big splashing mill wheel, there was a tub half full of the slimy creatures, anything but a pleasant-looking sight, and Vane said so.
“Reight, my lad,” said the miller, “but you wait till a basketful goes up to the Little Manor and your Martha has ornamented ’em with eggs and crumbs and browned ’em and sent ’em up on a white napkin, with good parsley. Won’t be an unpleasant sight then, eh? Come down to fish?”
“No,” said Vane, hesitating now.