, he said, as soon as any
one was up at the house, just to let him in to change his things
and write a note. Harry needn't fear any unpleasant consequences.
Wurley wasn't an ill-natured fellow at bottom, and wouldn't mind
a few fish. Talking of fish, where was the one he heard kicking
just now as Harry hauled in the line. They went to the place,
and, looking in the long grass, soon found the dead trout, still
on the night-line, of which the other end remained in the water.
Tom seized hold of it, and pulling it carefully in, landed landed
another fine trout, while Harry stood by, looking rather
sheepish. Tom inspected the method of the lines, which was simple
but awfully destructive. The line was long enough to reach across
the stream. At one end was a heavy stone, at the other a short
stake cut sharp, and driven into the bank well under the water.
At intervals of four feet along the line short pieces of fine
gimp were fastened, ending in hooks baited alternately with
lob-worms and gudgeon. Tom complimented his companion on the
killing nature of his cross-line.

"Where are your other lines, Harry?" he asked; "we may as well go
and take them up."

"A bit higher up stream, Master Tom;" and so they walked up
stream and took up the other lines.

"They'll have the finest dish of fish they've seen this long time
at the house to-day," said Tom, as each line came out with two or
three fine thick-shouldered fish on it. "I'll you what, Harry,
they're deuced well set, these lines of yours, and do you credit.
They do; I'm not complimenting you."

"I should rather like to be off, Master Tom, if you don't object.
The mornin's gettin' on, and the men will be about. 'Twould be
unked for I to be caught."

"Well, Harry, if you are so set on it off with you, but"--

"'Tis too late now; here's keeper."

Tom turned sharp round, and, sure enough, there was the keeper
coming down the bank towards them, and not a couple of hundred
yards off.

"So it is," said Tom; "well, only hold your tongue, and do just
what I tell you."

The keeper came up quickly, and touching his hat to Tom, looked
inquiringly at him, and then at Harry. Tom nodded to him, as if
everything were just as it should be. He was taking a two-pound
fish off the last line; having finished which feat he threw it on
the ground by the rest. "There keeper," he said, "there's a fine
dish of fish. Now, pick 'em up and come along."

Never was keeper more puzzled. He looked