The good laird had now got his tackle in order, and applied himself to the sport, telling Norman to sit quiet in the stern. Norman watched him eagerly.
“I cannot see what difficulty there is,” he said to himself. “I think in ten minutes or so I should be able to make the fly leap about over the water just as well as he does. Ah! he has caught a fish, I should like to do that! I must try as soon as he will let me have a rod.”
The laird quickly lifted the trout into the boat, and in half-an-hour caught five or six more.
It was now growing dusk, and observing that the fish would no longer rise, he wound up his line, and again took to his oars. They soon reached the shore. Norman begged that he might be allowed to carry the fish, which the laird had strung through the gills with a piece of osier which he cut from the bank.
Norman felt very proud as he walked away with the fish, persuading himself that he had had some part in catching them. They were, however, rather heavy, and before he reached the house his arms began to ache. He felt ashamed of acknowledging this, but continued changing them from hand to hand. The laird observed him, and with a smile, asked if he should take them. Norman was very glad to accept his offer.
“You will find playing a fly much harder work than carrying the fish you catch with it, young gentleman,” he remarked.
Before entering the house, Norman begged that he might have the fish again, to show them to the ladies in the drawing-room. He rushed in eagerly holding them up.
“See mamma! see Mrs Maclean! see granny! what fine fish the laird and I have caught,” he exclaimed.
“I congratulate you, my dear,” said his grandmamma, “which of them did you catch?”
“Oh, the laird hooked them, and I sat in the boat, and brought them some of the way up to the house!” answered Norman.