“I want to go back and begin fishing,” cried Norman, in an angry tone, “we are wasting our time here.”
“Yours is very valuable time, young gentleman, I doubt not,” remarked Sandy, standing up in the bow of the boat, which having turned round, he began to pole out by the way they had entered.
They were soon again in the loch, which looked brighter and more beautiful than ever after the gloom of the gorge.
They had not gone far when Norman again insisted on stopping.
“You promised that you would let me fish on our way back, and I am sure there must be numbers about here,” he said, throwing in his line.
“I should not wonder that there was no worm on your hook,” observed Sandy, after they had waited some time. “I thought so,” he continued, when Norman pulled up his line; “you canna expect ony fish to bite at a bare hook.”
“But put on another worm,” said Norman, who again tried for some time with equal want of success.
He was beginning to lose patience.
“Try deeper, young gentleman, fish swim further down than you think for,” observed Sandy.
Norman did not know what he meant, and so Sandy slipped the float considerably higher up the line. Still no fish were to be tempted by his worm.