the king's ship
was not in sight; and for a week Captain Revel was fidgeting and
watching the sky, for no rain came, and there was not water enough in
the river for fresh salmon to come as far as the pool.

"Did you ever see anything like it, Nic, my boy?" the Captain said again
and again; "that's always the way: if I didn't want it to rain, there'd
be a big storm up in the hills, and the fall would be roaring like a
sou'-wester off the Land's End; but now I want just enough water to fill
the river, not a drop will come. How long did Jack Lawrence say that he
was going to stop about Plymouth?"

"He didn't say, father, that I remember," replied Nic. "Then he'll soon
be off; and just in the miserable, cantankerous way in which things
happen, the very day he sets sail there'll be a storm on Dartmoor, and
the next morning the pool will be full of salmon, and those scoundrels
will come to set me at defiance, and clear off every fish."

"I say, father," said Nic merrily, "isn't that making troubles, and
fancying storms before they come?"

"What, sir? How dare you speak to me like that?" cried the
Captain.--"And you, Solly, you mutinous scoundrel, how dare you laugh?"
he roared, turning to his body-servant, who happened to be in the hail.

"Beg your honour's pardon; I didn't laugh."

"You did laugh, sir," roared the Captain--"that is, I saw you look at
Master Nic here and smile. It's outrageous. Every one is turning
against me, and I'm beginning to think it's time I was out of this
miserable world."

He snatched up his stick from the stand, banged on the old straw hat he
wore, and stamped out of the porch to turn away to the left, leaving Nic
hesitating as to what he should do, deeply grieved as he was at his
father's annoyance and display of temper. One moment he was for
following and trying to say something which would tend to calm the
irritation. The next he was thinking it would be best to leave the old
man to himself, trusting to the walk in the pleasant grounds having the
desired result.

But this idea was knocked over directly by Solly, who had followed his
master to the porch, and stood watching him for a few moments.

"Oh dear, dear! Master Nic," he cried, turning back, "he's gone down
the combe path to see whether there's any more water running down; and
there aren't, and he'll be a-wherriting his werry inside out, and that
wherrits mine too. For I can't abear to see the poor old skipper like
thi