"Well, that's a stuffer," he said, "it belongs to my grandfather."
Betty's eyes widened in horror at the new boy's depravity. "Oh, you story!" she said in a shocked voice, then turning to the uneasy Cyril, "Hit him, Cyril!" she said. "Hit him one in the eye for taking our place and telling such a wicked story."
But Cyril was already widening the distance between himself and John Brown, and a feeling of anger was beginning to stir in his small breast against Betty for trying to mix him up in this quarrel.
"Come on home," he said, "what's the good of having a row with a fellow like that?"
"But it's our water," said Betty, her face red with anger towards the fisher. She stooped down and picked up a stone.
Brown turned and looked at the little group; Cyril a good distance in the rear; and angry-faced Betty, with Nancy cowering in terror behind her.
"Look here," he said, "I'm not going to have any of you people poaching on my grandfather's property. You can come as far as the fence if you like, but I advise you to come no further."
Betty's stone flew through the air—many yards distant from the boy on the post.
"Good, again," he said. "There are plenty more stones and I'm here yet."
Again Betty repeated the process, and with even worse results. She never could aim straight in all her life!