"I wonder what Uncle Daniel will look like? I trust he will bring us something fine from England," said the boy. "I'd like to go back there with him, if he'd take us all."
"Yes, if he'd take us all, and we might get in to the army—eh?" came a voice from the top of the steep bank opposite.
It was quite startling, the reply was exactly like an echo; but that was not the strangest part. Flat on the ground lay another boy of thirteen. If the first had been copied by a maker of wax-works, line for line and color for color, the two could not have been more alike. In fact, the only difference was that the second had on pink silk breeches, which were very much muddied at the knees. He held in his extended hand a roughly trimmed fishing-pole.
"I feel another nibble," said the boy who had last spoken, leaning further over the water.
"Yes, there, there!" exclaimed the other on the lower bank. "Now we've got him!"
There was a swish, and a trout came plashing and twisting into the sunlight. He had not been very firmly hooked, however, for, after a short flight through the air, he tumbled almost into the lap of the little girl.
She gave a laugh, and, dropping her garland, managed to secure the gasping little fish, together with a handful of grass and leaves.
"Do put him back, William," she said, leaning forward. "He's much too small. I pray you put him back."
The boy took the trout, and, crawling to the water's edge, set him free, and laughed as he darted off and hid, wriggling himself under a sunken log.
At this minute the bushes were parted just behind where the two had been seated, and a strange figure came into sight.