Occupations at Brankly Farm.

The farmer led our two boys through a deliciously scented pine-wood at the rear of his house, to a valley which seemed to extend and widen out into a multitude of lesser valleys and clumps of woodland, where lakelets and rivulets and waterfalls glittered in the afternoon sun like shields and bands of burnished silver.

Taking a ball of twine from one of his capacious pockets, he gave it to Bobby along with a small pocket-book.

“Have you got clasp-knives?” he asked.

“Yes, sir,” said both boys, at once producing instruments which were very much the worse for wear.

“Very well, now, here is the work I want you to do for me this afternoon. D’you see the creek down in the hollow yonder—about half a mile off?”

“Yes, yes, sir.”

“Well, go down there and cut two sticks about ten feet long each; tie strings to the small ends of them; fix hooks that you’ll find in that pocket-book to the lines. The creek below the fall is swarming with fish; you’ll find grasshoppers and worms enough for bait if you choose to look for ’em. Go, and see what you can do.”

A reminiscence of ancient times induced Bobby Frog to say “Walke–e–r!” to himself, but he had too much wisdom to say it aloud. He did, however, venture modestly to remark—

“I knows nothink about fishin’, sir. Never cotched so much as a eel in—”

“When I give you orders, obey them!” interrupted the farmer, in a tone and with a look that sent Bobby and Tim to the right-about double-quick. They did not even venture to look back until they reached the pool pointed out, and when they did look back Mr Merryboy had disappeared.

“Vell, I say,” began Bobby, but Tim interrupted him with, “Now, Bob, you must git off that ’abit you’ve got o’ puttin’ v’s for double-u’s. Wasn’t we told by the genl’m’n that gave us a partin’ had-dress that we’d never git on in the noo world if we didn’t mind our p’s and q’s? An’ here you are as regardless of your v’s as if they’d no connection wi’ the alphabet.”

“Pretty cove you are, to find fault wi’ me,” retorted Bob, “w’en you’re far wuss wi’ your haitches—a-droppin’ of ’em w’en you shouldn’t ought to, an’ stickin’ of ’em in where you oughtn’t should to. Go along an’ cut your stick, as master told you.”

The sticks were cut, pieces of string were measured off, and hooks attached thereto. Then grasshoppers were caught, impaled, and dropped into a pool. The immediate result was almost electrifying to lads who had never caught even a minnow before. Bobby’s hook had barely sunk when it was seized and run away with so forcibly as to draw a tremendous “Hi! hallo!! ho!!! I’ve got ’im!!!” from the fisher.

“Hoy! hurroo!!” responded Tim, “so’ve I!!!”

Both boys, blazing with excitement, held on.

The fish, bursting, apparently, with even greater excitement, rushed off.

“He’ll smash my stick!” cried Bob.

“The twine’s sure to go!” cried Tim. “Hold o–o–on!”

This command was addressed to his fish, which leaped high out of the pool and went wriggling back with a heavy splash. It did not obey the order, but the hook did, which came to the same thing.

“A ten-pounder if he’s a’ ounce,” said Tim.

“You tell that to the horse—hi ho! stop that, will you?”

But Bobby’s fish was what himself used to be—troublesome to deal with. It would not “stop that.”

It kept darting from side to side and leaping out of the water until, in one of its bursts, it got entangled with Tim’s fish, and the boys were obliged to haul them both ashore together.

“Splendid!” exclaimed Bobby, as they unhooked two fine trout and laid them on a place of safety; “At ’em again!”

At them they went, and soon had two more fish, but the disturbance created by these had the effect of frightening the others. At all events, at their third effort their patience was severely tried, for nothing came to their hooks to reward the intense gaze and the nervous readiness to act which marked each boy during the next half-hour or so.

At the end of that time there came a change in their favour, for little Martha Mild appeared on the scene. She had been sent, she said, to work with them.

“To play with us, you mean,” suggested Tim.

“No, father said work,” the child returned simply.

“It’s jolly work, then! But I say, old ’ooman, d’you call Mr Merryboy father?” asked Bob in surprise.

“Yes, I’ve called him father ever since I came.”

“An’ who’s your real father?”

“I have none. Never had one.”

“An’ your mother?”

“Never had a mother either.”

“Well, you air a curiosity.”

“Hallo! Bob, don’t forget your purliteness,” said Tim. “Come, Mumpy; father calls you Mumpy, doesn’t he?”

“Yes.”

“Then so will I. Well, Mumpy, as I was goin’ to say, you may come an’ work with my rod if you like, an’ we’ll make a game of it. We’ll play at work. Let me see where shall we be?”

“In the garden of Eden,” suggested Bob.

“The very thing,” said Tim; “I’ll be Adam an’ you’ll be Eve, Mumpy.”

“Very well,” said Martha with ready assent.

She would have assented quite as readily to have personated Jezebel or the Witch of Endor.

“And I’ll be Cain,” said Bobby, moving his line in a manner that was meant to be persuasive.

“Oh!” said Martha, with much diffidence, “Cain was wicked, wasn’t he?”

“Well, my dear Eve,” said Tim, “Bobby Frog is wicked enough for half-a-dozen Cains. In fact, you can’t cane him enough to pay him off for all his wickedness.”

“Bah! go to bed,” said Cain, still intent on his line, which seemed to quiver as if with a nibble.

As for Eve, being as innocent of pun-appreciation as her great original probably was, she looked at the two boys in pleased gravity.

“Hi! Cain’s got another bite,” cried Adam, while Eve went into a state of gentle excitement, and fluttered near with an evidently strong desire to help in some way.

“Hallo! got ’im again!” shouted Tim, as his rod bent to the water with jerky violence; “out o’ the way, Eve, else you’ll get shoved into Gihon.”

“Euphrates, you stoopid!” said Cain, turning his Beehive training to account. Having lost his fish, you see, he could afford to be critical while he fixed on another bait.

But Tim cared not for rivers or names just then, having hooked a “real wopper,” which gave him some trouble to land. When landed, it proved to be the finest fish of the lot, much to Eve’s satisfaction, who sat down to watch the process when Adam renewed the bait.

Now, Bobby Frog, not having as yet been quite reformed, and, perhaps, having imbibed some of the spirit of his ce............