“But why should I not begin to fish at once?” exclaimed Norman. “That’s what I want to do, I do not care about the scenery.”
“But the young lady maybe does,” observed Sandy, “and I wish to do what she likes best.”
“But I want to fish, I say,” exclaimed Norman. “Why cannot I begin while the boat is going on? I wish you would put some bait on my hook, for I don’t like to touch the nasty worms—then you will see how soon I shall catch a fish.”
Sandy gave a broad grin, as he put on a worm, and then throwing the line into the water, let Norman hold his stick, while he again took the oars, and rowed slowly along towards the end of the loch.
Fanny sat in the stern of the boat, looking like a bright little fairy—admiring the scenery, even more than she did on her first excursion with the laird. She wished that Norman could admire it too, but he kept his eye on the float, thinking much more of the fish he expected to catch than of the mountains and rocks and tree-covered islets.
“I am so very much obliged to you for bringing us,” she said to Sandy. “This is indeed very beautiful.”
“Oh yes, its very braw,” answered Sandy,—but she could obtain no further expression of admiration from him, for having lived near the loch nearly all his life, he saw nothing very remarkable about it.
“I wonder whether there is any other place equal to this in all Scotland,” exclaimed Fanny, after they had gone a little further, and had come in sight of a deep valley opening up on one side, down which a sparkling stream rushed impetuously into the loch, while a waterfall came leaping down from rock to rock among the trees which clothed the valley’s side, now appearing, now concealed from sight by the overhanging foliage.
“Oh yes!” answered Sandy, “there are mony streams and lochs in the He’lands, but ye maun gang far to find one with fish bigger than swim in Loch Tulloch.”
“But I was speaking of the scenery,” said Fanny, “I dinna ken much about that,” said Sandy, not exactly understanding her.