Taking a ball of twine from one of his capacious pockets, he gave it to Bobby along with a small pocket-book.
“Have you got clasp-knives?” he asked.
“Yes, sir,” said both boys, at once producing instruments which were very much the worse for wear.
“Very well, now, here is the work I want you to do for me this afternoon. D’you see the creek down in the hollow yonder—about half a mile off?”
“Yes, yes, sir.”
“Well, go down there and cut two sticks about ten feet long each; tie strings to the small ends of them; fix hooks that you’ll find in that pocket-book to the lines. The creek below the fall is swarming with fish; you’ll find grasshoppers and worms enough for bait if you choose to look for ’em. Go, and see what you can do.”
A reminiscence of ancient times induced Bobby Frog to say “Walke–e–r!” to himself, but he had too much wisdom to say it aloud. He did, however, venture modestly to remark—
“I knows nothink about fishin’, sir. Never cotched so much as a eel in—”
“When I give you orders, obey them!” interrupted the farmer, in a tone and with a look that sent Bobby and Tim to the right-about double-quick. They did not even venture to look back until they reached the pool pointed out, and when they did look back Mr Merryboy had disappeared.
“Vell, I say,” began Bobby, but Tim interrupted him with, “Now, Bob, you must git off that ’abit you’ve got o’ puttin’ v’s for double-u’s. Wasn’t we told by the genl’m’n that gave us a partin’ had-dress that we’d never git on in the noo world if we didn’t mind our p’s and q’s? An’ here you are as regardless of your v’s as if they’d no connection wi’ the alphabet.”