“I’ll give you till supper-time to find that key,” said Munn, confidently, and walked on towards the house.
But before he had fairly emerged from the shadow of the elm he met Lansing face to face, and the young man halted him with a pleasant greeting, asking if he were not the Reverend Doctor Munn.
“That’s my name,” said Munn, briefly.
“I was looking for Mr. Sprowl; I thought to meet him here; we were to speak to you about the netting of trout in the river,” said Lansing, good-humoredly.
Munn regarded him in sulky silence.
“It won’t do,” continued Lansing, smiling; “if you net trout you’ll have the wardens after you.”
“Oh! and I suppose you’ll furnish the information,” sneered Munn.
“I certainly will,” replied Lansing.
Munn had retraced his steps towards the river. As the men passed before Eileen O’Hara, Lansing raised his cap. She did not return his salute; she looked towards the spot where he and Munn had halted, and her face bore that quaint, listening expression, almost pitifully sweet, as though she were deaf.
“Peter, our head-keeper, saw you netting trout in that pool last night,” said Lansing.