“Well, fire away,” Wally said impatiently.
Jim let his sinker go down gently until it settled in comfort in the soft mud at the bottom.
“This is where I come to Norah,” he said.
That young lady turned a lively red.
“If you’re going to tell all that bosh about me, I’m off,” she said, disgustedly. “Good-bye. You can call me when you’ve finished.”
“Where are you off to, Norah?” inquired Harry.
“Somewhere to fish—I’m tired of you old gossips—” Norah elevated a naturally tilted nose as she wound up her tackle and rose to her feet. She made her way along the log past the three boys until she reached the land, and, scrambling up the bank, vanished in the scrub. Presently they saw her reappear at a point a little lower down, where she ensconced herself in the roots of a tree that was sticking out of the bank, and looked extremely unsafe. She flung her line in below her perch.
“Hope she’s all right,” Harry said uneasily.
“You bet. Norah knows what she’s about,” Jim said calmly. “She can swim like a fish anyhow!”
“Well, go on with your yarn,” urged Wally.