“Mind your eye!”
“Don’t get your line tangled!”
“Want any help, Miss Norah?”
“No thanks.” Norah was almost breathless. A red spot flamed in each cheek.
Slowly the line came in. Presently it gave a sudden jerk, and was tugged back quickly, as the fish made another run for liberty. Norah uttered an exclamation, quickly suppressed, and caught it sharply, pulling strongly.
Ah—he was out! A big, handsome perch, struggling and dancing in the air at the end of the line. Shouts broke from the boys as Norah landed her prize safely on the bank.
“Well done, Miss Norah,” said the Hermit warmly.
“That’s a beauty—as fine a perch as I’ve seen in this creek.”
“Oh, isn’t he a splendid fellow!” Norah cried, surveying the prey with dancing eyes. “I’ll have him for Dad, anyhow, even if I don’t catch another.”
“Yes, Dad’s breakfast’s all right,” laughed the Hermit. “But don’t worry, you’ll catch more yet. See, there goes Harry.”