“My boy has just had them—his quarantine period is almost finished, but they don’t want him back at school before the holidays. And my husband’s eyes had been giving him trouble, so we decided upon a long holiday.”
“What—in Baroin?” asked Robin. Baroin, to her, was the most uninteresting of townships: she could imagine no reason for spending a holiday there.
“The fishing was the lure,” Dr. Lane said. “I have been hearing wonderful things of the trout in the streams here; we thought we could put in a few weeks exploring them, with Baroin as our headquarters. Don’t tell me that the report is only a rumour to catch tourists! I certainly have failed to rise a single fish to-day.”
“There are trout, and big ones, if you know where to go,” Robin told him. “Mother and I often fish.”
“And catch fish?”
“Why, of course.” Robin’s eyes twinkled. “We’re busy people; we haven’t time to fish just for fun, like—like tourists!”
“That’s a fair hit,” Dr. Lane said, laughing. “I will certainly dog your footsteps if I see you going out with a rod.”
“But wouldn’t you like to go out yourself this evening?” Robin asked. “There are two or three good holes in a little creek not far from our place. And the evening rise is the best, unless you get down really early—about dawn.”
“Would I like!” Dr. Lane suddenly looked like a schoolboy. “Can you come too?”
Robin shook her head.