"I say, Mr Manners, this
is bad manners, you know; you do hurt awfully."

"Ha, ha, ha!" laughed the artist, boisterously. "Fished it up with an
eel-hook? Well, I suppose I am heavy. Look here, if I let you get up,
will you fish it down?"

"Won't promise," growled Will.

"All right; I believe you will," and he rolled off, leaving the boys at
liberty to spring up, Josh to begin rubbing himself all over, Will to
dash to the first big stone, catch it up, and make an offer as if to
throw it at the artist's head.

The latter blew a cloud of smoke at the passionate-looking lad, and sat
looking him full in the face.

"All right," he said, coolly; "chuck!"

Will raised the stone as high as he could, and hurled it with all his
might high in the air so that it should fall with a heavy splash into
the pool below.

"Ha!" cried the artist. "Feel better now?"

"Yes," said Will, brushing himself down. "But I say, Mr Manners, you
are a jolly weight."

"Yes, I suppose I am. I say, I'm going to have a try after the trout
to-night. Where had I better go?"

"Likely I'm going to tell you after serving me like this!"

"Of course it is. I was going to ask you to come."

"Will you ask me, if I do?"

"Likely I'm going to ask you after serving my gamp like that!"

"Oh, I'll soon get that down," replied Will, cheerily. "Here! you go,
Josh. I put it up. I'm tired now; I had all his weight on me."

"Well, but I had all his weight and yours too, and I'm sore all over."

"You can't be," said Will. "You must be sore all under, for you were at
the bottom."

"Oh, but I can't, Will. I feel as if I was tired out."

"All right," cried Will, "I'll go;" and, springing up, he scampered down
to the level where the easel and canvas still stood, and climbed up as
the others followed more slowly; and a few minutes later the umbrella
came parachute-like down, to be folded up by its owner. Will shouldered
the easel, Josh tucked the canvas under his arm, and they all walked
up-stream together as if nothing had happened, towards Drinkwater's
attractive little cottage, which formed the temporary home of the lover
of rustic art, and discoursing the while about the red-spotted beauties
whose haunts Will was to point out that evening after tea.

The cottage with its pretty garden was reached, and the boys handed
their loads to the owner.

"What time will you be here?" he said.

"We ought to start at five," replied Will, "but we ca