The boys shouldered their rods, and went up upon the dam, whose waters looked deep and dark, and smooth as glass, save where here and there a big trout quietly sucked down some unfortunate fly, forming ever-expanding rings on the mirror-like surface.
“My! There’s a whopper!” cried Josh, as the fish broke the surface with a loud smack.
“What are you going to do?” cried Will.
“Do? Why, have a few throws; they are rising splendidly.”
“More reason why we should fetch old Manners.”
“All right,” said Josh, securing his fly again to one of the lower rings of his rod, shouldering it, and following his companion along the ascending path leading to the cottage.
They had passed along the second of the zig-zags when, at the third turn, they came suddenly upon Drinkwater standing in the shade of a drooping birch, gazing intently down upon the mill.
The boys were close upon him before he heard their steps, and then, starting violently, he wrenched himself round, leaped actively upon a heap of stones at his side, seized one of the hanging boughs, dragged himself up, and dived at once into the dense undergrowth, disappearing with a loud rustling amongst the bracken.
“All right, old chap!” said Will, cavalierly, “just as you like! But you are fifty, and I wouldn’t behave like a sulky boy.”
“Oh, take no notice,” said Josh. “Father says that he is sure to come round.”