“Oh,” said Henry. “But what’s the matter with you? Your face is as white as a sheet. Are you ill?”
“No, only mad because father wouldn’t let me go fishing this morning. I wish you would pass on and attend to your business,” added Guy mentally. “I am in an awful hurry.”
“I am sorry you couldn’t go, for we had the best of sport,” said Henry. Then he exhibited his string of fish, and went on to tell who were on the pier, and what success each one had met with—how he had struck a splendid black bass, and after an exciting struggle had almost landed him, when his line broke and the fish took himself off; how Charley Root, one of their school-mates, hooked on to a yellow pike that he ought to have lost, he handled him so awkwardly, but which, by the united efforts of all the men and boys on the pier, was safely landed at last, and when placed on the scales pulled down the beam at nine pounds and a quarter—of all of which Guy scarcely heard a dozen words, although under any other circumstances he would have listened with all his ears.
“As you must be lonely, I’ll come in and visit with you a while,” added Henry.
“I wish you could,” answered Guy, “but father told me before he went away to bring no one in the yard.”
“Then suppose you come over and see me.”
“I can’t. I have orders not to go outside the gate to-day.”
“Have you finished reading the ‘Boy Trappers?’ If you have, I’ll lend you another book.”
“No, I am not yet done with it. Perhaps I will spend an hour or two with you this evening, after the folks come home.”
“I wish you would. You know we want to talk about something. Good-by.”