The wind had risen, and to pull the heavy, water-logged old boat up the lough was no easy task. There was no rudder, and she steered very badly, her awkwardness intensified by the unequal oars. The waves slapped against her side, and occasionally flung in a little cloud of spray, and she leaked fast. Norah baled energetically, with poor results.
“She’s a noble vessel,” said Wally, pulling with a will. “Feel her wallow in the trough of these silly little waves. I guess we’ll call her ‘The Walloping Window-Blind,’ Nor, after the boat in the song. Can you swim, Timsy?”
“I cannot, sir,” said Timsy, grinning. “Sure that one won’t sink on us.”
“Blest if I know,” Wally answered, doubtfully. “I wouldn’t be surprised at any old thing she’d do. Anyhow, Miss Norah and I can rescue you if she goes down; and the water isn’t very cold. Timsy, did you ever hear the sergeant’s opinion of this boat?”
Timsy’s grin widened.
“I did, sir,” he said, with probably prudent reticence. “Sure, there’s no one does be liking her in these parts. She’s not an aisy puller at all.”
“True for you,” said Wally, panting. “Thank goodness, here’s the end of the lough. Hurry up, Nor, she’ll drift back quickly before this wind, and they ought to be rising.” His flies whistled out over the dancing water.
“If you’d let me have the net itself I could be landing the fish for you,” said Timsy, eagerly. “I’ve landed ’em for me daddy many a time—he taught me.”
“Good man—what the sergeant taught you is good enough for us,” said Wally. “Stand by, then—I’ve got a beauty on. He’s pulling like fury.” He played the fish dexterously, his keen, brown face eager. “Come on, you monster—I’d bet he weighs a pound, Norah! Ready, Timsy?—he’s about done—ah, good kid!” as the small boy slipped the net under the struggling fish with all the deftness of Mr. Burke himself. “Oh, a beauty! And to think we used to imagine that a hand-line was sport!”
“You live and learn,” said Norah, sagely. “That’s the biggest yet, Wally, and didn’t he fight! Oh, I’ve got one!—be ready, Timsy.”