CHAPTER XI
THE HAY SLIDE
“Daddy,” said Sunny Boy, as he munched a sandwich, lying on his stomach and looking down into the brook from the safe height of the bank, “how much is five hundred dollars?”
“A large sum of money,” answered Mr. Horton, surprised. “Why, Son? What do you know about such things? Little boys shouldn’t be bothering about money for years and years to come.”
So Sunny told him about Grandpa’s bonds and how he had lost them by pasting them on his kite. Mr. Horton was very sorry, but he said little.
“Only remember this, Sunny Boy,” he insisted gravely. “I would rather you told me yourself than to have heard it from any one else—even from Mother. When you’ve done anything good or bad that you think I should know, you tell me yourself, always. And now how about going wading?”
That was great fun. Sunny Boy rolled his trousers up as far as they would go and took off his shoes and stockings. The water was not deep, but, my! wasn’t it cold? Little baby fish darted in and out, and ever so many times Sunny thought he had a handful of them. But when he unclosed his hands there was never anything in them but water, and not much of that.
“If I did catch a fish, could I keep him, Daddy?” Sunny asked. “I could carry home some brook for him to live in.”
Sunny meant some of the brook water. Daddy explained that the baby fish, minnows they are called, would not be happy living in a bowl as the goldfish Sunny once had were.
“And you wouldn’t want a fish to be unhappy, would you?” questioned Daddy. “Of course you wouldn’t. But I’ll tell you something better to do than trying to catch fish that only want to be left alone.”