Lance had already taken Laura under his wing—as was to be expected; but Mother Wit made him give Purt the assistance he needed. The three wandered up stream, far above the series of quiet pools where the other members of the party were casting for trout, or fishing for perch.
The trio passed a series of rapids, several rods long, and then struck a very beautiful stretch of calm water, with tree-shaded banks, and shallows where the cat-tails and rushes grew in thick clusters.
“I see a sign up yonder,” Laura said to Lance. “Didn’t you say a part of this stream was a private fishing preserve?”
“So I’ve been told. We won’t go beyond the sign,” said Lance.
He got Laura and Purt properly stationed and then cast, himself. They were having good sport and had landed several beauties, when Billy Long came idly up the stream on the other side.
“Hello!” he grunted. “Everywhere I go, there are girls. Isn’t there a place where a fellow can get away from them and fish? They chatter so much that they drive all the fish into the mud, with their fins over their ears—that’s right!” 169
“Horrid thing!” said Laura. “We can keep just as silent when we’re fishing as any of you boys.”
“Try it, then,” advised Short and Long, gruffly.
He kept on up stream. “Look out there, Billy,” Lance advised. “It’s posted above there.”
“Posted?”