“Don’t know about that,” replied Bar. “Once I understand a thing I’m sure to forget it. Never can repeat it in the same words again.”
It was not very clear to Val’s comprehension, even then, but Bar worked and fished away till there came a long interval during which neither of them had so much as a nibble.
“Sun’s getting too high,” said Val. “That’s what Puff told us. No use to fish any more; we’ve a tip-top string, anyhow.”
“Let’s pull back, then,” said Bar. “I’ve got in all the Latin I can hold, for once. Perhaps we can get Puff to help us.”
“If he only knows it isn’t real work,” said Val. “Tell him it’s play and he’ll work his head off.”
The trouble with Puff Evans must have been that he had grown up to be the father of a family without in any manner ceasing to be a boy. There are a good many grown-up people in the same condition, and some of them were not very remarkable boys, either.
On their arrival at the landing, the two friends found Puff waiting for them. He had discerned the return of his treasure at a greater distance than any other man could have made her out, and now he expressed his entire approval of the morning’s catch, except that he mildly deprecated the absence of anything like big fish.
“P’r’aps they’ll bite better for you when they come to know you,” he said encouragingly. “They’re a little strange to your way of fishing yet. Are ye goin’ right back to th’ village?”
“No,” said Bar; “we’ve some fun on hand we want to talk to you about.”
Puff was all ears in a moment, and the result of Bar’s explanation was that the boys were taken over to the workshop at once, while Mrs. Evans began with intense zeal to broil some fresh fish for their noonday meal.