little wretch! You feel
as if you must be half-starved."

As he uttered the words there was a loud scratching, and he struck a
match, lit his pipe, and began to smoke, while the boys, now feeling
themselves perfectly helpless, lay waiting to see what he would do next.

"Ha!" said the artist. "I think that'll about do. You chaps are never
happy unless you are playing me some trick. I've put up with it for a
long time; but you know, young fellows, they say a worm will turn at
last. Well, I'm a worm, and I'm going to turn, and have my turn."

"What are you going to do?" cried Will.

"Want to know?"

"Of course I do."

"You'd better leave us alone," whimpered Josh.

"Think so? Well, I will, after I've done. I'm going to wash some of
the mischief out of you. I shall just tie your hands together--yes, I
can easily do it now--and then drop you both into the pool."

"What?" yelled Josh. "Why, you'd drown us!"

"Hold your noise, Josh. He daren't."

"Daren't! Why not? You are only boys, and all boys are a nuisance.
You've spoilt five of my canvases, and wasted a lot of my paint, making
scarecrows--at least, one of you did. But there, I won't be hard; I'll
only drop in the one who did it. Who was it? Was it you, Josh
Carlile?"

Josh was silent.

"Ah! I expect it was. It was he, wasn't it, Will?"

Will was silent too.

"Now I'm sure it was. Now then, Will; out with it. Tell me. It was
Josh Carlile, wasn't it?"

"Shan't tell," cried Will; "and if you don't let us get up directly,
I'll poke holes through all your canvases, and pitch your paints into
the dam."

The artist filled his mouth as full of tobacco smoke as he could, bent
down, and puffed it in a long stream full in the boy's face, making him
struggle afresh violently, but all in vain.

"Well, you are a nice boy--very," said the artist. "Your father must be
very proud of you. It is quite time you were washed; you've a deal of
mischief in you that would be much better out. Now then, it was Josh
Carlile, wasn't it?"

"I won't tell you. Pitch us in if you dare. Don't you mind, Josh.
He's only saying it to frighten us."

"Yes; a very nice boy," said the artist, gravely; "but as I promised, I
won't be hard, for anyhow you've got some pluck. Look here, how did you
manage to get my gamp up yonder?"

"Went up above and fished for it," said Will, coolly.

"Fished for it? What with?"

"Water-cord and an eel-hook," growled Will.