"It's a lovely day," Garth said, conversationally. "Isn't it?"
"It is. Did you come out to tell me that?"
"Well, not exactly," Garth hesitated. "Only, it is a nice day. And mother and I were thinking we hadn't had any fish for ages. And we thought it wouldn't be any wonder if the motor got indigestion again, through not being used!"
Macleod grinned.
"You and mother are a pair of old conspirators, and I am your unhappy victim!" he said. "This means, I suppose, that I am to stop earning both your livings and play about in a silly motor-boat all day!"
"You know it isn't a silly boat—it's a beauty!" Garth protested. "And it isn't waste of time, 'cause we'll catch such a lot of fish that it'll save the butcher's bill no end. And there's meat-pies to take out for lunch: mother made 'em yesterday, and they're lovely!"
"I never heard a more convincing set of reasons," Tom said. "Well, if I don't come I suppose you and mother will go off by your wild lones, and eat all the pies, so I suppose I'd better be meek. I say, though, what about bait?"
"'Possum and I caught a lovely lot of shrimps yesterday," said his son demurely.
"Oh, did you? I'd like to know was it the sight of your shrimps that made mother make the pies, or the sight of the pies that sent you after shrimps?"
"It wasn't neither, truly," Garth answered. "She made 'em while I was away. She says it was a brain-wave!"