e with you." And the old man turned his back, and waded a
few steps upstream.

"I say, Master Rayburn," continued the lad, "when you said `Bah!' in
that sharp way, it was just like the bark of one of the great black
birds."

"What, sir!" snapped the old man; "compare me to a raven?"

"You compared me and my father, and the Darleys, all to ravens, sir."

"Humph! Yes, so I did," muttered the old fisherman.

"I didn't mean to be rude. But you reminded me: I saw one of them fly
over just before I met you, sir. Do you know where they are nesting
this year?"

"Eh?" cried the fisherman, turning sharply, with a look of interest in
his handsome old face. "Well, not for certain, Mark, but I've seen them
several times lately--mischievous, murderous wretches. They kill a
great many lambs. They're somewhere below, near the High Cliffs. I
shouldn't at all wonder, if you got below there and hid among the
bushes, you'd see where they came. It's sure to be in the rock face."

"I should like to get the young ones," said the lad.

"Yes, do, my boy; and if you find an addled egg or two, save them for
me. Bring then on, and we'll blow them."

"I will," said the lad, smiling.--"Don't be hard on me, Master Rayburn."

"Eh? No, no, my boy; but I can't help being a bit put out sometimes.
Coming down this evening, were you? Do. I'll save you a couple of
grayling for supper--if I catch any," he added, with a smile.

"May I come?"

"Of course. Come early, my boy. I've a lot of things to show you that
I've found since you were at home, and we'll plan out some reading, eh?
Mustn't go back and get rusty, because you are at home. We'll read a
great deal, and then you won't have time to think about knocking Ralph
Darley's brains out--if he has any. You haven't much, or you wouldn't
help to keep up this feud."

"Oh, please don't say any more about that, Master Rayburn."

"Not a word, boy. Must go on--a beautiful worm morning."

The old man turned his back again.

"Don't be late," he cried; and he waded onward, stooping, and looking
more humped and comical than ever, as he bent forward to throw his bait
into likely places, while Mark Eden went onward down-stream.

"I like old Master Rayburn," he said to himself; "but I wish he wouldn't
be so bitter about the old trouble. It isn't our fault. Father would
be only too glad to shake hands and be friends, if the Darleys were only
nice, instead of being such savage beasts