But they scuttle about the walls inside, and between the ceilings
and the floors. And you can't frighten them. The only thing that
scared them once was the bag-pipes. An old piper came to the house one
day and played a great deal, and we heard nothing more of the rats for
two or three weeks after that."

"Sensible bastes," remarked Quin, handing the rod to his master; "an' a
sign, too, that they've got some notion o' music."

"Why, Quin, I thought you had bag-pipes in Ireland," said Jackman, as he
fastened a large fly to his line.

"An' that's what we have, sor; but the Irish pipes are soft, mellow,
gentle things--like the Irish girls--not like them big Scotch bellows
that screech for all the world like a thousand unwillin' pigs bein'
forced to go to markit."

"True, Quin; there's something in that. Now then, both of you stand
close to me--a little behind--so; it's the safest place if you don't
want to be hooked, and be ready with the gaff, Junkie," said the fisher,
as he turned a critical eye on the water, and made a fine cast over what
he deemed the most likely part of the pool.

"Father never rose a fish there," said Junkie, with a demure look.

The fisher paid no attention to the remark, but continued to cast a
little lower down stream each time.

"You're gettin' near the bit now," said Junkie, in the tone of one whose
expectations are awakened.

"Th-there! That's him!"

"Ay, and a good one, too," exclaimed Jackman, as a fan-like tail
disappeared with a heavy splash. Again the fisher cast, with the same
result.

"He's only playin' wi' the fly," said Junkie in a tone of
disappointment.

"That's often the way--no!--th-there! Got 'im!"

The rod bent like a hoop at that moment; the reel spun round to its own
merry music, as the line flew out, and the fish finished its first wild
rush with a leap of three feet into the air.

"Hooray!" yelled Junkie, now fairly aflame, as he jumped like the fish,
flourished the big hook round his head, and gaffed Quin by the lappet of
his coat!

"Have a care, you spalpeen," shouted the Irishman, grasping the excited
youngster by the collar and disengaging himself from the hook. "Sure it
might have been me nose as well as me coat, an' a purty objec' that
would have made me!"

Junkie heeded not. When released he ran toward Jackman who was
struggling skilfully with the fish.

"Don't let him take you down the rapid," he shouted. "There's no good
place for lan