“Bother the old business!” said Norah, inelegantly, wrinkling her nose, as was her way in deep thought. “Wally, why shouldn’t we try Lough Anoor?”
“That’s rather an idea—especially as Patsy’s engaged to-day, and can’t act as boatman. We could paddle round and try Lough Anoor by ourselves. It won’t do Lough Nacurra any harm to have a rest.”
“No; we’ve fished it pretty steadily lately,” Norah agreed. “It would be rather fun to try a new place. I’d like to take Timsy, if you don’t mind, Wally. He’s such a jolly little chap, and it would be a tremendous treat for him.”
“Good idea!” agreed Wally. “Great man, Timsy; he’ll take charge of us and run the whole show, and be entirely happy. Will you find him, Nor, while I get the rods and basket?”
Timsy was never difficult to find, when the seekers were the Australians. He was digging his bare brown toes into the gravel by the front door when Norah and Wally emerged from the garden.
“Are you busy to-day, Timsy?” asked Norah, gravely. One of the things that Timsy liked about these people from the other side of the world was that they always treated him as an equal in age and sense, and did not “talk down” to him. He had bitter memories of an English visitor who had addressed him as “Little boy,” and of an elderly lady who had patted him on the head, and called him “dear.” His blood still boiled when he thought of it.
“I am not,” he replied. “I’m after catching all the chickens me mother wants,—and ’twas themselves give me a fine hunt. Chickens do be always knowing when they’re wanted to be kilt.”
“Then you can’t blame them for running,” said Norah. “No more jobs, Timsy?”
“There is not, miss. Me mother’s after telling me to get out and play.”
“Mr. Wally and I are going to fish Lough Anoor,” Norah said. “We haven’t been there yet, and we don’t know much about it. Would you care to come, too, Timsy?”