" asked Helga, looking
full at him. She had all a woman's curiosity, and it was inexplicable
to her what motive Hardy could have had for his purchase.

"I will tell you when my mother comes here next year," said Hardy.

"You have bought it for a residence for your mother, then?" said
Helga, inquiringly.

"I cannot say I have," replied Hardy.

They had come to the shores of the little lake, where the two boys had
been anxiously watching the trimmers that Garth had assisted them in
setting round the reeds; but although they saw several fish were on,
Garth would not let them take the boat to the lines until his master
came. Hardy saw the situation, and said--

"Don't wait, Bob; take the lads to the lines, and let them pull them
up."

Several pike were brought ashore, but none of any size. It had been
the habit of the former owner of Rosendal to use nets, and take out
the largest fish, so as not to allow a few monsters to tyrannize over
the rest of the fish in the lake. The boys had seen similar tackle to
the English trimmers, but neither so neat nor effective.

"We do not consider this method of fishing a fair way in England,"
said Hardy; "it is adopted by poachers, to steal fish from private
ponds, and it is not popular with anglers. The approved method is to
troll for pike."

"Very interesting to the fish, if they only knew it," said the Pastor.
"I fear when on the hooks they would scarcely appreciate the
distinction. For my part, I do not like the mode of fishing you have
just practised, as a little fish is kept in misery until the pike
chops him with his teeth, or it dies on the hook."

"You are quite right to condemn it in that way," said Hardy; and,
turning to Karl and Axel, added, "You hear what your father says; so
when you wish to fish here you must troll, as you saw me do at
Silkeborg; and as only one can troll in the boat at one time, I will
give you my trolling-rod and gear, so that you can fish when you
like."

"Thank you, so much, Herr Hardy," said the boys at once. "You are
always good, and think so much about us."

"You are kind. Hardy," said the Pastor; while Froken Helga looked as
if she did not understand Hardy.

As they walked up to the mansion from the lake, they went through the
valley of roses, which has before been described as giving the name to
Rosendal.

"What do you say, Froken Helga, to this place?" asked Hardy. "Is there
no room for improvement here? There are a few ragged ro