stones, and then lay down to watch. The turf
happened to be soft and level. As a natural consequence the tired man
fell sound asleep.

"What's to be done noo, Junkie?"

"I don't know, Tonal'."

To make matters more exasperating, at that moment the rod began to bend
and the reel to spin jerkily.

"A fush!" exclaimed Donald.

"Looks like it," returned his friend drily.

"I better gee a yell an' wauken him," suggested Donald.

"Ye'd better no'," said Junkie, shaking his fist.

"Yonder iss the end o' yer bonnet stickin' oot o' his pooch,
what-e-ver," said Donald.

"You'd better lie low an' keep still," said Junkie; and, without further
explanation of his intentions, he went softly down the bank and crept
towards the sleeper, taking advantage of every stone and root and bush
as he went along. Really, for a first attempt, it was worthy of the
child of a Pawnee brave.

MacRummle was a heavy sleeper, so Junkie had no difficulty in recovering
his cap. Putting it on, he returned the way he had come.

"That wass cliver, man," said the admiring Donald, when his friend
rejoined him.

Junkie accepted the compliment with a dignified smile, and then sat down
to wait; but it was a severe trial of patience to both of them, for the
old man slept steadily on, and even snored. He seemed, in short, to
have fairly gone to bed for the night.

"What say ye to bomb stanes at 'um?" suggested Donald.

"An' kill 'im, maybe," returned Junkie, with sarcasm in his eye.

"Heave divits at 'um, then."

"Ay; that's better."

Accordingly, the two urchins tore up a mass of turf which was much too
heavy to heave.

"Let's row'd," suggested the active-minded Donald.

As this also met the approval of Junkie, they carried the "divit," or
mass of turf, to the bank just above the sleeper, and, taking a careful
aim, let it go. The bank was not regular. A lump diverted the divit
from its course, and it plunged into the pool, to the obvious
discomposure of the fish, which was still at intervals tugging at the
line. Another divit was tried, but with similar result. A third clod
went still further astray. The bombardment then became exciting, as
every kind of effort does when one begins to realise the beneficial
effect of practice.

"I can see how it is," whispered Junkie, as he carefully "laid" the next
gun. "If we keep more to the right, it'll hit that lump o' grass,
glance into the hollow, and--"

He stopped abruptly, and both