“Not,” he said, “till you’ve had some sort of practice first. It isn’t so safe and easy as it looks, and you mustn’t run any unnecessary risk.”
“But you do,” said Val.
“No, it isn’t any kind of risk for me,” replied Bar, “so long as the rod’s strong enough to hold me.”
Once more on solid ground, outside the building, Bar insisted on the greatest watchfulness and caution in working their way around and back to the bank of the little river. There, at least, they fancied themselves safe, and were pushing along from one lot to another, for the fences were no sort of obstacle, although they were built close down to the water.
As they sprang over into one inclosure, however, they were greeted by a hoarse, deep, threatening growl, which brought them to an immediate stand, and there before them, in the moonlight, they discerned the forms of a well-grown boy and a dog who was only too “well-grown.”
“It’s Zeb Fuller and his Bob,” exclaimed Val. “We’re in his father’s lot. Zebedee,” he added, “what are you doing out here at this time of night?”
“Set some night-lines for eels,” said Zebedee, “and my mind was troubled about them. But what are you out for? Don’t you see what an awful example you’re setting Bob and me?”
“We?” said Val. “Oh, we are taking a look at the village.”
“Yes,” said Zeb. “I must go and talk with Solomon about it to-morrow. Have you tried your new boat yet, Mr. Cash?”
“Vernon,” said Val. “Bar Vernon. He’s to be my chum this winter.”