“Not for worlds!” he said indignantly. “I can’t bear to be idle. I shall fish from the tender. Want to come along?”
Harry did, so they scrambled into the little boat with a few worms and a couple of lines, and rowed a little way into the stream.
“We mustn’t go very far away,” said Harry, “in case—”
“Your nightmare came back,” teased Roy.
“Do you think it was that?” she asked anxiously.
“Don’t you?” he answered evasively.
“I don’t know. Maybe. But it didn’t seem like a dream.”
“Lots of dreams don’t. Hand me the bait-can, please.”
They fished for nearly an hour without having even a nibble, and then rowed disgustedly back to the boat. Shortly before noon the rest of the party returned almost empty-handed. The doctor had landed three small trout, Chub two, and Dick none.
“The stream’s too small,” said the doctor. “To-morrow—” he hesitated— “if we’re still here, we’ll try the first stream and go higher up.”
