"Not quite," she announced; "mine's about an inch longer, and a bit fatter."

"Well, that's all right," Jim said. "I said it was the grandmother I had--yours is certainly the grandfather! I'm glad you got the biggest, old girl." They exchanged a friendly smile.

A yell from Wally intimated that he had something on his hook, and with immense pride he flourished in the air a diminutive blackfish--so small that the Hermit proposed to use it for bait, a suggestion promptly declined by the captor, who hid his catch securely in the fork of two branches, before re-baiting his hook. Then Harry pulled out a fine perch, and immediately afterwards Norah caught a blackfish; and after that the fun waxed fast and furious, the fish biting splendidly, and all hands being kept busy. An hour later Harry shook the last worm out of the bait tin and dropped it into the water on his hook, where it immediately was seized by a perch of very tender years.

"Get back and grow till next year," advised Harry, detaching the little prisoner carefully, the hook having caught lightly in the side of its mouth. "I'll come for you next holidays!" and he tossed the tiny fellow back into the water. "That's our last sc.r.a.p of bait, you chaps," he said, beginning to wind up his line.

"I've been fishing with an empty hook for I don't know how long," said Jim, hauling up also. "These beggars have nibbled my bait off and carefully dodged the hook."

"Well, we've plenty, haven't we?" Norah said. "Just look what a splendid pile of fish!"

"They take a bit of beating, don't they?" said Jim. "That's right, Wal, pull him up!" as Wally hauled in another fine fish. "We couldn't carry more if we had 'em."

"Then it's a good thing my bait's gone, too!" laughed Norah, winding up.

"Haven't we had a most lovely time!"

Jim produced a roll of canvas which turned out to be two sugar bags, and in these carefully bestowed the fish, sousing the whole thoroughly in the water. The boys gathered up the lines and tackle and "planted" the rods conveniently behind a log, "to be ready for next time," they said.

"Well, we've had splendid sport, thanks to you, sir," Jim said, turning to the Hermit, who stood looking on at the preparations, a benevolent person, "something between Father Christmas and Robinson Crusoe," as Norah whispered to Harry. "We certainly wouldn't have got on half as well if we'd stayed where we were."

"Oh, I don't know," the Hermit answered. "Yours is a good place--I've often caught plenty of fish there--only not to be relied on as this pool is. I've really never known this particular spot fail--the fish seem to live in it all the year round. However, I'm glad you've had decent luck--it's not a bit jolly to go home empty-handed, I know. And now, what's the next thing to be done? The afternoon's getting on--don't you think it's time you came to pay me a visit at the camp?"

"Oh, yes, please!" Norah cried.

Jim hesitated.

"We'd like awfully to see your camp, if--if it's not any bother to you,"

he said.

"Not the least in the world," the Hermit said. "Only I can't offer you any refreshment. I've nothing but cold 'possum and tea, and the 'possum's an acquired taste, I'm afraid. I've no milk for the tea, and no damper, either!"

"By George!" said Jim remorsefully. "Why, we ate all your damper at lunch!"

"I can easily manufacture another," the Hermit said, laughing. "I'm used to the process. Only I don't suppose I could get it done soon enough for afternoon tea."

"We've loads of tucker," Jim said. "Far more than we're likely to eat.

Milk, too. We meant to boil the billy again before we start for home."

"I'll tell you what," Norah said, struck by a brilliant idea. "Let's coo-ee for Billy, and when he comes send him back for our things. Then if--if Mr. Hermit likes, we could have tea at his camp."

"Why, that's a splendid notion," the Hermit cried. "I'm delighted that you thought of it, Miss Norah, although I'm sorry my guests have to supply their own meal! It doesn't seem quite the thing--but in the bush, polite customs have to fall into disuse. I only keep up my own good manners by practising on old Turpentine, my snake! However, if you're so kind as to overlook my deficiencies, and make them up yourselves, by all means let us come along and coo-ee for sweet William!"

He shouldered one of the bags of fish as he spoke, disregarding a protest from the boys. Jim took the second, and they set out for the camp.

Their way led for some time along the track by which they had come, if "track" it might be called. Certainly, the Hermit trod it confidently enough, but the others could only follow in his wake, and wonder by what process he found his way so quickly through the thick bush.

About half a mile along the creek the Hermit suddenly turned off almost at right angles, and struck into the scrub. The children followed him closely, keeping as nearly at his heels as the nature of the path would permit.

Norah found it not very pleasant. The Hermit went at a good rate, swinging over the rough ground with the sure-footed case of one accustomed to the scrub and familiar with the path. The boys unhampered by skirts and long hair, found no great difficulty in keeping up with him, but the small maiden of the party, handicapped by her clothes, to say nothing of being youngest of them all, plodded along in the rear, catching on sarsaparilla vines and raspberry tangles, plunging head first through ma.s.ses of dogwood, and getting decidedly the worst of the journey.

Harry was the first to notice that Norah was falling "into the distance," as he put it, and he ran back to her immediately.

"Poor old kid!" he said shamefacedly. "I'd no idea you were having such a beast of a time. Sorry, Norah!" His polite regrets were cut short by Norah's catching her foot in a creeper and falling bodily upon him.

"Thank you," said Harry, catching her deftly. "Delighted, I'm sure, ma'am! It's a privilege to catch any one like you. Come on, old girl, and I'll clear the track for you."

A little farther on the Hermit had halted, looking a trifle guilty.

"I'm really sorry, Miss Norah," he said, as Norah and Harry made their way up to the waiting group. "I didn't realise I was going at such a pace. We'll make haste more slowly."

He led the way, pausing now and again to make it easier for the little girl, holding the bushes aside and lifting her bodily over several big logs and sharp watercourses. Finally he stopped.

"I think if you give Billy a call now, Jim," he said, "he won't have much difficulty in finding us."

To the children it seemed an utter impossibility that Billy should ever find them, though they said nothing, and Jim obediently lifted up his voice and coo-ee'd in answer to the Hermit's words. For himself, Jim was free to confess he had quite lost his bearings, and the other boys were as much at sea as if they had suddenly been dropped down at the North Pole. Norah alone had an idea that they were not far from their original camping-place; an idea which was confirmed when a long "Ai-i-i!" came in response to Jim's shout, sounding startlingly near at hand.

"Master Billy has been making his way along the creek," commented the Hermit. "He's no distance off. Give him another call."

"Here!" Jim shouted. Billy answered again, and after a few more exchanges, the bushes parted and revealed the sable retainer, somewhat out of breath.

"Scoot back to camp, Billy," Jim ordered. "Take these fish and soak 'em in the creek, and bring back all our tucker--milk and all. Bring it--Where'll he bring it, sir?" to the Hermit.

"See that tall tree, broken with the bough dangling?" the Hermit asked, pointing some distance ahead. Billy nodded. "Come back to that and cooee, and we'll answer you."

"Plenty!" said Billy, shouldering the bags of fish, and departing at a run. Billy had learnt early the futility of wasting words.

"Come along," said the Hermit, laughing.

He turned off into the scrub, and led the way again, taking, it seemed to Norah, rather a roundabout path. At length he stopped short, near a dense clump of dogwood.

"My back door," he said politely.

They stared about them. There was no sign of any door at all, nor even of any footprints or marks of traffic. The scrub was all about them; everything was very still and quiet in the afternoon hush.

"Well, you've got us beaten and no mistake!" Jim laughed, after they had peered fruitlessly about. "Unless you camp in the air, I don't see--"

"Look here," said the Hermit.

He drew aside a clump of dogwood, and revealed the end of an old log--a huge tree-trunk that had long ago been a forest monarch, but having fallen, now stretched its mighty length more than a hundred feet along the ground. It was very broad and the uppermost side was flat, and here and there bore traces of caked, dry mud that showed where a boot had rested. The dogwood walled it closely on each side.

"That's my track home," the Hermit said. "Let me help you up, Miss Norah."

He sprang up on the log as he spoke, and extended a hand to Norah, who followed him lightly. Then the Hermit led the way along the log, which was quite broad enough to admit of a wheelbarrow being drawn down its length. He stopped where the b.u.t.t of the old tree, rising above the level of the trunk, barred the view, and pulling aside the dogwood, showed rough steps, cut in the side of the log.

"Down here, Miss Norah."

In a moment they were all on the ground beside him--Wally, disdaining the steps, having sprung down, and unexpectedly measured his length on the earth, to the accompaniment of much chaff. He picked himself up, laughing more than any of them, just as Norah popped her head through the scrub that surrounded them, and exclaimed delightedly--.

"Why, here's the camp."