."

"Don't mention it," said Peter, grandly, "I knew you would be."

So then they all went up to the Canal bridge. The idea was to fish from
the bridge, but the line was not quite long enough.

"Never mind," said Bobbie. "Let's just stay here and look at things.
Everything's so beautiful."

It was. The sun was setting in red splendour over the grey and purple
hills, and the canal lay smooth and shiny in the shadow--no ripple broke
its surface. It was like a grey satin ribbon between the dusky green
silk of the meadows that were on each side of its banks.

"It's all right," said Peter, "but somehow I can always see how pretty
things are much better when I've something to do. Let's get down on to
the towpath and fish from there."

Phyllis and Bobbie remembered how the boys on the canal-boats had thrown
coal at them, and they said so.

"Oh, nonsense," said Peter. "There aren't any boys here now. If there
were, I'd fight them."

Peter's sisters were kind enough not to remind him how he had NOT fought
the boys when coal had last been thrown. Instead they said, "All right,
then," and cautiously climbed down the steep bank to the towing-path.
The line was carefully baited, and for half an hour they fished
patiently and in vain. Not a single nibble came to nourish hope in their
hearts.

All eyes were intent on the sluggish waters that earnestly pretended
they had never harboured a single minnow when a loud rough shout made
them start.

"Hi!" said the shout, in most disagreeable tones, "get out of that,
can't you?"

An old white horse coming along the towing-path was within half a dozen
yards of them. They sprang to their feet and hastily climbed up the
bank.

"We'll slip down again when they've gone by," said Bobbie.

But, alas, the barge, after the manner of barges, stopped under the
bridge.

"She's going to anchor," said Peter; "just our luck!"

The barge did not anchor, because an anchor is not part of a
canal-boat's furniture, but she was moored with ropes fore and aft--and
the ropes were made fast to the palings and to crowbars driven into the
ground.

"What you staring at?" growled the Bargee, crossly.

"We weren't staring," said Bobbie; "we wouldn't be so rude."

"Rude be blessed," said the man; "get along with you!"

"Get along yourself," said Peter. He remembered what he had said about
fighting boys, and, besides, he felt safe halfway up the bank. "We've as
much right here as anyone else."