would be annoyed.

CHAPTER TWENTY ONE.

A DAY'S FISHING.

Nic felt uncomfortable. There was something fascinating about being in
company with a man who knew so much of the wild nature of his country;
but then the man was a convict--he had been warned against him--and a
companion that the doctor would not approve. But still, somehow or
other, the boy was constantly finding himself in Leather's company, for
the man was as much drawn to Nic as he was to the convict.

The consequence was that they were often together out in the wilder
parts of the doctor's great estate.

One day, after a hint from his father, consequent upon his saying that
he was going to explore the gully by the waterfall, he had taken the old
fishing-rod and line from where it hung upon two hooks in the kitchen--a
rod the doctor had used in old trout and salmon-fishing days, and had
brought over on the chance of wanting, but had never found time to use.

"That gully is very beautiful higher up, Nic, and I have seen plenty of
fish in the deep parts, gliding about among the tree roots and old
trunks that have been washed down in the floods and got wedged in. I
should certainly take the rod. The men tell me they are capital eating,
but I have never tried."

"We had a dish one day, father, when you were out," said Janet.

"How did you get them?" asked the doctor.

"Samson brought them in--a basketful," cried Hilda.

"Then you had better ask old Sam what he baited with, and take your bait
accordingly."

"Yes, father," said the boy.

"Take the biggest basket, Nic," said Hilda mischievously.

"Ah, you think I shan't catch any," said her brother, nodding his head;
"but you'll see."

The rod was dusty, but good and strong, and in the bag the doctor
pointed out there were plenty of good new hooks and lines; so leaving
them ready, Nic went down the garden to where he expected to find old
Sam.

Sure enough there he was hoeing away, and he stopped and wiped his
perspiring face upon his arm as the boy came up.

"That's right, sir," he cried. "Glad to see you here. I want you to
take a bit more hinterest in my garden. See they taters: ain't they
getting on? Look at my peas and beans too. I calls they a sight, I do.
Make some o' they gardeners in Old England skretch their wigs and wish
they could grow things like 'em."

"Beautiful, Sam; but--"

"There's cauliflowers too, sir: ain't they splendid?"

"Couldn't be better, Sam; but--"