They had passed along the second of the zig-zags when, at the third turn, they came suddenly upon Drinkwater standing in the shade of a drooping birch, gazing intently down upon the mill. The boys were close upon him before he heard their steps, and then, starting violently, he wrenched himself round, leaped actively upon a heap of stones at his side, seized one of the hanging boughs, dragged himself up, and dived at once into the dense undergrowth, disappearing with a loud rustling amongst the bracken. "All right, old chap!" said Will, cavalierly, "just as you like! But you are fifty, and I wouldn't behave like a sulky boy." "Oh, take no notice," said Josh. "Father says that he is sure to come round." "Not going to," said Will. "Come along." Ten minutes later they reached the cottage gate, to find Drinkwater's sad-looking, patient-faced wife looking anxiously over the hedge. "How are you, Mrs Waters?" cried Will, cheerily. "We haven't come for tea this time. We are going to catch some trout--a good creelful--for you to cook." "I hope you will, my dears," said the woman, gently. "Mr Manners was sadly disappointed the other night. He said he thought that you had played him another trick." "There, what did I say?" cried Will. "Is he in his room?" "No, my dears; he's painting down by the birches, below the cave." "All right," cried Will. "Look here; I'll take his rod and basket." The creel was hanging from a nail beneath the cottage porch, and the rod stood up like a tall reed with its spear stuck in one of the garden beds; and, quite at home, Will took them from their resting-places, swung the creel strap across his back, laid the rod alongside his own over his shoulder, and then walked sharply on along familiar paths, with a booming noise growing louder and louder as they progressed, till at one of the turns of the stream they came full in sight of the great fall where the water was thundering down into the rocky hollow it had carved, and a faint mist of spray rose to moisten the overhanging ferns. "Big mushroom, Josh!" cried Will, pointing to the great, open umbrella. "What shall we do? Say we are coming with a stone?" "No, no," said Josh; "no larks now." "Well, I could hit it like a shot," said Will, picking up a rounded pebble. "Why, so could I, if you come to that," said Josh. "Not you! Come, let's try." "No, no; I don't want to tease him. Let's get him on to fish." "You couldn't hit it," said Will. "All right; think so if you like," said Josh, and Will sent his stone flying with a tremendous jerk right away into the trees beyond the stream. "Coo-ee!" he shouted. "Mr RA! Ahoy!" "Don't!" cried Josh. "Why?" "He won't like it. Father says that he told him once that he was sadly disappointed that he had not had more success with the pictures he sent to town." "Poor old chap!" said Will. "Well, I suppose they were not very good." "That's what father thinks," said Josh. "How does he know?" said Will.