“Fine evening,” said Cheriton.
“For fish,” said Jim’s mother. “They appear to have bitten beautifully.”
“Caught fourteen,” said George, almost with animation. “If they average an ounce, they average two pound apiece.”
“I understood Miss Perry to say you had caught nine,” said Mrs. Lascelles.
“Fourteen,” said George, with the resolute air of a man who does not brook contradiction. “Where’s the gal got to?”
“Little Miss Tucker desires trout for her supper,” said Cheriton. “There she goes. Leaps the boulders like a chamois, by gad!”
“I tell you what, Cheriton,” said George, “that gal can handle a punt with the best of ’em. She knows how to throw a fly too. Very sure hand. Uncommonly clever gal at fishin’.”
“You surprise me,” said Cheriton. “Three minnows in a net one would expect to be the limit of her talent in the delicate art of Piscator.”
“There is a dear little trout stream behind the Parsonage at Slocum Magna,” said Mrs. Lascelles, demurely.
“Seen her sister, Cheriton?” inquired George. “They call her Crumpet. Smart young gal.”