e cottage porch, and the rod
stood up like a tall reed with its spear stuck in one of the garden
beds; and, quite at home, Will took them from their resting-places,
swung the creel strap across his back, laid the rod alongside his own
over his shoulder, and then walked sharply on along familiar paths, with
a booming noise growing louder and louder as they progressed, till at
one of the turns of the stream they came full in sight of the great fall
where the water was thundering down into the rocky hollow it had carved,
and a faint mist of spray rose to moisten the overhanging ferns.

"Big mushroom, Josh!" cried Will, pointing to the great, open umbrella.
"What shall we do? Say we are coming with a stone?"

"No, no," said Josh; "no larks now."

"Well, I could hit it like a shot," said Will, picking up a rounded
pebble.

"Why, so could I, if you come to that," said Josh.

"Not you! Come, let's try."

"No, no; I don't want to tease him. Let's get him on to fish."

"You couldn't hit it," said Will.

"All right; think so if you like," said Josh, and Will sent his stone
flying with a tremendous jerk right away into the trees beyond the
stream.

"Coo-ee!" he shouted. "Mr RA! Ahoy!"

"Don't!" cried Josh.

"Why?"

"He won't like it. Father says that he told him once that he was sadly
disappointed that he had not had more success with the pictures he sent
to town."

"Poor old chap!" said Will. "Well, I suppose they were not very good."

"That's what father thinks," said Josh.

"How does he know?" said Will.

"Oh, he says that if they were good they wouldn't all come back."

"Well, RA goes on painting them all the same," said Will. "Coo-ee! Mr
Manners, ahoy!"

This time the artist looked up, rose from his seat, stretched himself,
and waved his palette in the air.

"Hollo, young 'uns," he said, as they came up; "off fishing again?"

"Yes," said Will, "and I've brought your rod."

"Very much obliged to you," said the artist, sarcastically. "But not
this time, thank you; I would rather paint."

"Oh--oh!" cried Will. "Do come! I've brought your basket too."

"To put nothing in, eh? No, not this time, thanks."

"But it's a good evening, Mr Manners, and the fish are rising
splendidly."

"Honour?" cried the artist, with a searching look.

"Bright!" cried Josh, earnestly.

"All right, then. Here, I want to put in that little bit of sunlight,
and then I'll come. How do you think it looks?"