The old gentleman, rather nettled at the glibness of the lads, stuck a hook vengefully into an inoffensive worm, and threw his line.

The boys still retained their post, and after many whispered remarks and tittering, the younger thrust his handkerchief into his mouth to smother a burst of irrepressible laughter, while the other, assuming a modest and penitent air, said: 

“I beg your pardon, sir.”

“What?” demanded the old gentleman sharply.

“Hope you are not offended, sir?”

“Get along with you,” replied the unfortunate angler, irritated at his want of success.

“I can tell you something, sir,” continued the lad;—­“there’s no fish to be had where you are.  I know the river well.  Father’s very fond o’ fish; he always brings home plenty.  If you like, sir, I can show you the place.”

Here his companion rolled upon the grass and kicked, perfectly convulsed with laughter, luckily hidden from the view of the now mollified old gentleman.

“Indeed!” cried the angler:  “is it far from this?”

“Not a quarter of a mile,” replied the boy.

“That is nothing.  I’ve walked eighteen this morning,” said the old gentleman, packing up his apparatus.  “I’ll go with you directly, and thank you too, for I’m a perfect stranger in these parts.”

When he had joined them, the laughing fits of the younger had subsided, although he chose to fall in the rear.  “Now, to shew you how much more profitable it is to respect than to mock at your superiors in years, there’s a (let me see)—­there’s a halfpenny for you to purchase cakes.”

“Thank ye, sir,” said he, and turning to his companion with a wink:  “Here Bill, run to Cummins’ and buy a ha’p’orth of eights—­we’ll make the most of it—­and I’ll come to you as soon as I’ve shown the gentleman the fish.”

“Show me the place, and I’ll find the fish,” said the anticipating angler.

On they trudged.

“Must we go through the town?” asked his companion, as he marched with his long rod in one hand and his can in the other.

“Yes, sir, it ain’t far;” and he walked on at a quicker pace, while all the crowd of rustics gazed at t e extraordinary appearance of the armed Waltonian, for it happened to be market-day.  After parading him in this fashion nearly through the town, he presently twitched him by his coat-sleeve.

“Look there, sir!” cried he, pointing to a well-stocked fishmonger’s.

“Beautiful!—­what a quantity!” exclaimed the venerable piscator.

“I thought you’d like it, sir—­that’s the place for fish, sir,—­good morning.”

“Eh! what—­you young dog?”

“That’s where father gets all his, I assure you, sir,—­good morning,” said the youth, and making a mock reverence, bounded off as fast as his legs could carry him.

SCENE XV.

“Vy, Sarah, you’re drunk!  I am quite ashamed o’ you.”