e in an arm-chair, didn't you?"

"I did, my boy," was the reply, given in company with a weary sigh.
"But granted, granted, and thank you. I'm glad to find that though we
are leading this half savage life, you young fellows don't forget that
you are gentlemen."

"Gentlemen's sons, sir," said the second boy modestly.

"Same thing, Ned Bourne. Well, so we're to have a treat: fish for
dinner, eh? Where are they?"

The boys exchanged glances again, their eyes twinkling with mirth, and
then they burst out laughing merrily once more.

"A big basketful, boys?" And the speaker rubbed his hands.

"No, fa," cried the first boy. "We haven't caught one."

"What! Why, where did you go?"

"To the upper pool, sir," said the second boy, "and there wasn't a
fish."

"Then why didn't you try the river?"

"There is no river now, fa."

"No river?"

"No, fa; it was all turned into pools when we were there a fortnight
ago, and now there's only a muddy spot here and there; all the rest have
dried-up."

"Tut, tut, tut! What a place it is!"

"Oh, it will be better soon, sir," said the second boy cheerfully.
"There'll be a heavy rain, the river will fill again, and the fish begin
running up from the sea. It's such a lovely morning out, and the
flowers are glorious."

"Yes, Ned, lovely and glorious," said the penman sadly. "It is, as I
have often said, a perfect paradise--a beautiful garden. I don't wonder
that the old mission fathers called it the Valley of the Angels. But
though we can drink in the beauty of the place it does not quench one's
thirst, and not being herbivorous people, we can't feed on flowers. Oh
dear! Then there are no fish?"

"Not till the rains come, fa."

"And when they do come the wet will find it easy to get to your skin,
Chris--and to yours too, Ned Bourne. What a pair of ragamuffins you
look!"

The two frank, good-looking lads coloured through their bronzed skins,
and each involuntarily clapped his hand to a guilty spot--that is to
say, one covered a triangular hole in his knickerbockers and the other
pressed together the sides of a long slit in his Norfolk jacket, and
they spoke together again.

"I got hung up in the agaves, father, and the thorns catch like hooks."

"A nail ran into my knicks, sir, when I was on the roof mending the
shingles."

"A very meritorious proceeding, my dear Ned, but there are needles and
thread in the chest: why didn't you mend your knicks, as you cal