“Glad you’re satisfied!” cried Kenneth; “but we’ve come to fish.”
“To fish?”
“Yes, of course.”
“Are there salmon here, then?”
“Yes; there’s one in every pool, I’ll bet; and I daresay there’s one where the little fall comes down.”
“What! There?” cried Max, as he looked up and up, till about two thousand feet above them a thread of glancing silver seemed to join other threads of glancing silver, like veins of burnished metal, to come gliding down, now lost to sight among the verdure of the mountain, now coming into view again, till they joined in one rapid rivulet, which had cut for itself a channel deep in the mountain side, and finally dashed out from beneath the shade of the overhanging birches, to plunge with a dull roar into the river nearly opposite where they stood.
“Now then,” said Kenneth, “I’m supposing that you have never tried to catch a salmon.”
“Puir laddie!” muttered the great forester; “a’most a man, and never caught a fush! Hey! where are ye gaun wi’ that basket, Scood?”
“Never you mind, Tavvy. I sent him,” said Kenneth sharply, as Scoodrach plunged in among the rocks and bushes behind them, and disappeared.
“I think you had better fish,” said Max shrinkingly, “I have never tried.”