ly hatched," said the lad. "Might wait for them, and
bring them up. I dunno, though. Sing best in the trees. Wouldn't hop
about the courtyard and cliffs like the young ravens. Wonder where they
build?"

He went on, to stop and watch the trout and grayling, which kept darting
away, as he approached the riverside, gleaming through the sunlit water,
and hiding in the depths, or beneath some mass of rock or tree-root on
the other side.

"Rather stupid for me, getting to be a man, to think so much about
birds' nests; but I don't know: perhaps it isn't childish. Old Rayburn
is always watching for them, and picking flowers, and chipping bits of
stone. Why, he has books full of pressed grasses and plants; and boxes
full of bits of ore and spar, and stony shells out of the caves and
mines.--Well now, isn't that strange?"

He stopped short, laughing to himself, as he suddenly caught sight of a
droll-looking figure, standing knee-deep in the river, busy with rod and
line, gently throwing a worm-baited hook into the deep black water,
under the projecting rocks at the foot of the cliff.

The figure, cut off, as it were, at the knees, looked particularly short
and stout, humped like a camel, by the creel swung behind to be out of
the way. His dress was a rusty brown doublet, with puffed-out breeches
beneath, descending half-way down the thigh, and then all was bare. A
steeple-crowned, broad-brimmed hat, from beneath which hung an abundance
of slightly-curling silvery hair, completed the figure at which Mark
Eden gazed, unseen; for the old man was intent upon his fishing, and
just then he struck, and after a little playing, drew in and unhooked a
finely-spotted trout, which he was about to transfer to his basket, when
he was checked by a greeting from the back.

"Morning, Master Rayburn. That's a fine one."

"Ah, Mark, boy, how are you?" said the old man, smiling. "Yes: I've got
his brother in the basket, and I want two more. Better come and help me
to eat them."

"Can't to-day.--Quite well?"

"Yes, thank God, boy. Well for an old man. I heard you were back from
school. How's that?"

"Bad fever there. All sent home."

"That's sad. Ought to be at work, boy. Better come and read with me."

"Well, I will sometimes, sir."

"Come often, my boy; keep you out of mischief."

"Oh, I shan't get into mischief, sir."

"Of course not; idle boys never do. Not likely to get fighting, either.
I see young Ralph Dar