“But I want it.”
“I like that.”
“I shall never rest till I get it.”
“I am so sorry.”
“But I really don’t care.”
“That is a relief to my conscience.”
“Oh, Pardy! I have killed a grilse and a thirty-eight-pound salmon.”
“And I nothing. Mr. Carington must have ordered all the fish up-stream. Might I ask for some water?”
“Yes. Michelle, get a jug fresh from the spring. Come to the tents. Alas, Mr. Lyndsay, to-morrow is Sunday—no fishing.”
“No, indeed. How good that water is! Rose, you might take that grilse to Mrs. Maybrook to-morrow.”