trouble me. Aunt Helen always accompanied us on
our bathing expeditions to keep us in check. She was the only one who
bothered with a bathing-dress. The rest of us reefed off our clothing, in
our hurry sending buttons in all directions, and plunged into the
pleasant water. Then--such water-fights, frolic, laughter, shouting and
roaring fun as a dozen strong healthy girls can make when enjoying
themselves. Aunt Helen generally called time before we were half inclined
to leave. We would linger too long, then there would be a great scramble
for clothes, next for horses, and with wet hair streaming on our towels,
we would go home full belt, twelve sets of galloping hoofs making a royal
clatter on the hard dusty road. Grannie made a rule that when we arrived
late we had to unsaddle our horses ourselves, and not disturb the working
men from their meal for our pleasure. We mostly were late, and so there
would be a tight race to see who would arrive at table first. A dozen
heated horses were turned out unceremoniously, a dozen saddles and
bridles dumped down anywhere anyhow, and their occupants, with wet
dishevelled hair and clothing in glorious disarray, would appear at table
averring that they were starving.

The Caddagat folk were enthusiastic anglers. Fishing was a favourite and
often enjoyed amusement of the household. In the afternoon a tinful of
worms would be dug out of one of the water-races, tackle collected,
horses saddled, and grannie, uncle, aunt, Frank Hawden, myself, and any
one else who had happened to drop in, would repair to the fish-holes
three miles distant. I hate fishing. Ugh! The hideous barbarity of
shoving a hook through a living worm, and the cruelty of taking the fish
off the hook! Uncle allowed no idlers at the river--all had to manipulate
a rod and line. Indulging in pleasant air-castles, I generally forgot my
cork till the rod would be jerked in my hand, when I would pull--too late!
the fish would be gone. Uncle would lecture me for being a jackdaw, so
next time I would glare at the cork unwinkingly, and pull at the first
signs of it bobbing--too soon! the fish would escape again, and I would
again be in disgrace. After a little experience I found it was a good
plan to be civil to Frank Hawden when the prospect of fishing hung
around, and then he would attend to my line as well as his own, while I
read a book which I smuggled with me. The fish-hole was such a
shrub-hidden nook that, though the main