Lunch over, everyone seemed disinclined for action. The boys lay about on the grass, sleepily happy. Norah climbed into a tree, where the gnarled boughs made a natural arm-chair, and the Hermit propped his back against a rock and smoked a short black pipe with an air of perfect enjoyment. It was just hot enough to make one drowsy. Bees droned lazily, and from some shady gully the shrill note of a cricket came faintly to the ear. Only Billy had stolen down to the creek, to tempt the fish once more. They heard the dull “plunk” of his sinker as he flung it into a deep, still pool.
“Would you like to hear how I lost my boot?” queried the Hermit suddenly.
“Oh, please,” said Norah.
The boys rolled over—that is to say Jim and Wally rolled over. Harry was fast asleep.
“Don’t wake him,” said the Hermit. But Wally’s hat, skilfully thrown, had already caught the slumberer on the side of the head.
Harry woke up with surprising promptness, and returned the offending head-gear with force and directness. Wally caught it deftly and rammed it over his eyes. He smiled underneath it at the Hermit like a happy cherub.
“Now we’re ready, sir,” he said. “Hold your row, Harry, the—this gentleman’s going to spin us a yarn. Keep awake if you can spare the time!”
“I’ll spare the time to kick you!” growled the indignant Harry.
“I don’t know that you’ll think it’s much of a yarn,” the Hermit said hurriedly, entering the breach to endeavour to allay further discussion—somewhat to Jim’s disappointment. “It’s only the story of a pretty narrow escape.
“I had gone out fishing one afternoon about a month ago. It was a grand day for fishing—dull and cloudy. The sun was about somewhere, but you couldn’t see anything of him, although you could feel his warmth. I’d been off colour for a few days, and had not been out foraging at all, and as a result, except for damper, my larder was quite empty.