“Oh, yes, I suppose so, sir. You look just the sort of boy who would work himself to death over his learning. Tired of fishing?”
“I’m not,” said Vane. “Have there been many up here lately?”
“Swarms,” said the miller. “Pool’s alive with roach and chub sometimes, and up in the dam for hundreds of yards you may hear the big tench sucking and smacking their lips among the weeds, as if they was waiting for a bit of paste or a fat worm.”
“You’ll give us a day’s fishing any time we like to come then, Mr Rounds?” said Vane.
“Two, if you like, my lads. Sorry I can’t fit you up with tackle, or you might have a turn now.”
“Oh, I shan’t come and fish that way,” cried Macey. “I’ve tried too often. You make all kinds of preparations, and then you come, and the fish won’t bite. They never will when I try.”
“Don’t try enough, do he, Master Lee?”
“Yes, I do,” cried Macey. “I like fishing with a net, or I should like to have a try if you ran all the water out of the dam, so that we could see what fish were in.”
“Yes, I suppose you’d like that.”
“Hi! Look there, Vane,” cried Macey, pointing to a newly-painted boat fastened by its chain to one of the willows. “I’m ready for a row if Mr Rounds would lend us the boat.”