“You forget the fish we’re going to live on,” laughed Mr. Linton.
“‘M,” said Brownie solemnly. “First catch your fish!”
“Why, of course, we mean to, you horrid old thing!” cried Norah, laughing; “and bring you home loads, too—not that you deserve it for doubting us!”
“I have seen many fishing parties go out, Miss Norah, my dear,” said Mrs. Brown impassively, “and on the ’ole more came ’ome hempty ’anded than bringing loads—fish bein’ curious things, an’ very unreliable on the bite. Still, we’ll ’ope for the best—an’ meanwhile to prepare for the worst. I’ll just cook a few extry little things—another tongue, now, an’ a nice piece of corned beef, an’ per’aps a ’am. An’ do you think you could manage a pie or two, Miss Norah?”
“Try her!” said Mr. Linton, laughing.
“Let’s tell Billy!”—and off went Norah at a gallop.
She returned a few minutes later, slightly crestfallen.
“Billy must be asleep,” she said. “I couldn’t get an answer. Lazy young nigger—and it’s still twilight!”
“Billy has no use for the day after the sun goes down, unless he’s going ’possuming,” her father said. “Never mind—the news will keep until the morning.”
“Oh, I know,” said Norah, smiling. “But I wanted to tell him to-night.”