"That's what I was thinking," said the Unwiseman, turning the water on again; "and furthermore, I think it's very strange that you don't fix it so that you can get fish. A trout isn't more than four inches around. You could get one through a six-inch pipe without any trouble unless he got mad and stuck his fins out. Why don't you have larger faucets and catch the fish? I would. If there aren't any fish in the brook you can stock it up without any trouble, and it would save you the money you pay to fish-markets as well as the nuisance of going fishing yourself and putting worms on hooks."
A long hilarious whistle from the pantry door caused the Unwiseman to look up sharply.
"What was that?" he said.
"Smee," came the whistling voice.
"It's Whistlebinkie," said Mollie.
"Is his real name Smee?" asked the Unwiseman. "I thought Whistlebinkie was his name."
"So it is," said Mollie. "But when he gets excited he always runs his words together and speaks them through the top of his hat. By 'smee' he meant 'it's me.' Come in, Whistlebinkie."
"I shall not notice him," said the Unwiseman, stiffly. "Remember what I said to you about my family. He opens front doors for pay."
"Donteither," whistled Whistlebinkie.