The guilty ones dived like rabbits into the bracken.
“Bless me!” exclaimed the old gentleman, jumping up and shaking the dry earth off. “This is most remarkable. I do believe I’ve been asleep. But why the bank should take to crumbling down upon me is more than I can understand. Hallo! A fish! You don’t deserve such luck, Dick, my boy.”
Winding in the line in a way which proved that the divit had done him no harm, he gave utterance to an exclamation of huge disgust as he drew an eel to the bank, with the line entangled hopelessly about its shiny body. This was too much for MacRummle. Unable to face the misery of disentanglement, he cut the line, despatched the eel, attached a new hook, and continued his occupation.
At the head of the pool in question the bank was so precipitous and high that the boys could see only the top of the rod swinging gracefully to and fro as the patient man pursued his sport. Suddenly the top of the rod described a wild figure in the air and disappeared. At the same moment a heavy plunge was heard.
“Hech! he’s tum’led in the pool,” gasped Donald.
They rushed to the overhanging edge of the cliff and looked down. Sure enough MacRummle was in the water. They expected to see him swim, for Junkie knew he was an expert swimmer; but the poor man was floating quietly down with the current, his head under water.
“Banged his heed, what-ë-ver!” cried Donald, jumping up and bounding down the bank to the lower and shallow end of the pool. Quick though he was, Junkie outran him; but the unfortunate MacRummle was unintentionally quicker than either, for they found him stranded when they got there.
Running into the water, they seized him by the hair and the collar of his coat, and dragged him into the shallow part easily enough, but they had not strength to haul him ashore.
“Fetch a divit, Tonal’—a big one, an’ I’ll keep up his head.”
One of the masses of recent artillery was fetched, and the fisher’s head was gently pillowed on it, so as to be well out of the water.