"However, I like to see a boy try to do a thing. It is only by trying that a person can succeed. But trying alone will not do, a person must learn his alphabet before he can read; unless he did so, he might try very hard to read, and would not succeed. In the same way you must learn the a, b, c of every handicraft, and art, and branch of knowledge, before you can hope to understand or accomplish the work. The a, b, c of fly-fishing is to handle your rod and line, and I must see you do that well, before I let you use a hook, with which you would otherwise only injure yourself or any one else in the boat."

"But I should feel so foolish throwing a line backwards and forwards over the water," answered Norman, "I should not like that."

"You would be much more foolish throwing it backwards and forwards and not catching anything," remarked the laird. "Will you follow my advice or not? I want your answer."

"I will do as you wish me," said Norman, after some hesitation.

"Then I will teach you how to become a fly-fisher, and perhaps another year when you pay me a visit, you will be able to catch as many fish as I am likely to do this evening."

The good laird had now got his tackle in order, and applied himself to the sport, telling Norman to sit quiet in the stern. Norman watched him eagerly.

"I cannot see what difficulty there is," he said to himself. "I think in ten minutes or so I should be able to make the fly leap about over the water just as well as he does. Ah! he has caught a fish, I should like to do that! I must try as soon as he will let me have a rod."

The laird quickly lifted the trout into the boat, and in half-an-hour caught five or six more.

It was now growing dusk, and observing that the fish would no longer rise, he wound up his line, and again took to his oars. They soon reached the sh.o.r.e. Norman begged that he might be allowed to carry the fish, which the laird had strung through the gills with a piece of osier which he cut from the bank.

Norman felt very proud as he walked away with the fish, persuading himself that he had had some part in catching them. They were, however, rather heavy, and before he reached the house his arms began to ache.

He felt ashamed of acknowledging this, but continued changing them from hand to hand. The laird observed him, and with a smile, asked if he should take them. Norman was very glad to accept his offer.

"You will find playing a fly much harder work than carrying the fish you catch with it, young gentleman," he remarked.

Before entering the house, Norman begged that he might have the fish again, to show them to the ladies in the drawing-room. He rushed in eagerly holding them up.

"See mamma! see Mrs Maclean! see granny! what fine fish the laird and I have caught," he exclaimed.

"I congratulate you, my dear," said his grandmamma, "which of them did you catch?"

"Oh, the laird hooked them, and I sat in the boat, and brought them some of the way up to the house!" answered Norman.

f.a.n.n.y burst into a merry laugh.

"You are always grinning at me," exclaimed Norman, turning round and going out of the room.

Again his evil feelings were aroused.

"I won't be laughed at by a girl," he said to himself, as he made his way towards the kitchen to deliver the fish to the cook. "I will pay her off, and she will be sorry that she jeered at me."

"Well, young gentleman. These are fine fish," said the cook, "did you catch them all?"

"No I didn't," answered Norman turning away, for he was afraid the cook would laugh at him, as f.a.n.n.y had done, if he boasted of having caught them.

"f.a.n.n.y, you should not laugh at Norman," observed Mrs Vallery, "he cannot endure that sort of thing, as he has not been accustomed to it."

"But, my dear Mary, don't you think it would be better that he should learn to endure it, and get accustomed to be joked with?" said Mrs Maclean. "When he goes to school he will be compelled to bear the jokes of his companions, if he gets angry on such occasions, they will only joke at him the more, and he will have a very uncomfortable time of it."

"Poor boy! I am afraid what you say is true, but still, I do not consider that his sister should be the person to teach him the unpleasant lesson," answered Mrs Vallery.

"I did not intend to hurt his feelings, and will find him and try to comfort him as well as I can," said f.a.n.n.y, putting up her work.

f.a.n.n.y found Norman just going into his room to get ready for tea. "I am so sorry I laughed when you told us about the fish just now, Norman,"

she said putting her hand on his arm; "I did not intend to laugh at you, but only at what you said."

"I do not see why you should have laughed at all, I don't like it, and won't stand it, and you had better not do it again," he answered, tearing himself away from her, and running into his room. She attempted to follow, but he slammed the door in her face, and shot the bolt, so that she could not enter.

"My dear brother, do listen to me, I am very very sorry to have offended you, and will not, if I can help it, laugh at you again," she said, much grieved at his petulant behaviour.

Norman made no answer, but she heard him stamping about in his room and knocking over several things.

Finding all her efforts vain, she got ready for tea, and went to the dining-room, where that meal was spread in Highland fashion.

Norman who was hungry, at last made his appearance. He went to his seat without speaking or even looking at her. Mr Maclean who knew nothing of what had pa.s.sed, talked to him in his usual kind way, and promised to take him out the next morning that he might commence his lessons in fly-fishing. Norman being thus treated, was perfectly satisfied with himself, and considered that f.a.n.n.y alone was to blame for the ill-feeling in which he allowed himself to indulge towards her. She made several attempts to get him to speak, but to no purpose.

How sad it was that Norman should have been able to place his head on his pillow and not experience any feeling of compunction at doing so without being reconciled to his gentle sister.

Next morning he was up betimes, and went off soon after breakfast with Mr Maclean to the loch.

f.a.n.n.y amused herself for some time with her little bird. It now knew her so well that when she opened the door of its cage, it would fly out as she called it, and come and perch on her finger, and when she put some crumbs on the table, it would hop forward, turning its head about, and pick them up one after the other, watching lest any stranger should approach. If any one entered the room it immediately came close up to f.a.n.n.y, or perched on her hand, and seemed to feel that it was perfectly safe while under her protection. It would not, however, venture out if any one else was in the room. f.a.n.n.y kept its cage hung up on a peg near the window of her bedroom. She brought it down that morning to show to Mrs Leslie.

"I must give it a name, dear granny," she said; "can you help me? Do you recollect the pretty story you used to read to me when I was a very little girl, about the three robins--d.i.c.key, and Flapsey, and Pecksy. I have been thinking of calling it by one of those names, but I could not make up my mind."

"Which name do you like the best, my dear?" asked Mrs Leslie.

"I think Pecksy. Pecksy was a good, obedient, little bird, and I am sure my dear little bird is as good as a bird can be."

"Then I think I would call it Pecksy, dear," answered Mrs Leslie; and f.a.n.n.y decided on so naming her little favourite.

"Now you shall see, granny, how Pecksy will come out when I call it, if you will just hold up your shawl as you sit in your arm-chair, so that it may not see you; yet I am sure it would not be afraid of you if it knew how kind you are, and I shall soon be able to teach it to love you;" so f.a.n.n.y placed the cage on a little table at the farther end of the room, and, opening the door, went to some distance and called to Pecksy, and out came Pecksy and perched on her fingers. She then, talking to it and gently stroking its back, brought it quietly up to her granny. Greatly to her delight, Pecksy did not appear at all afraid.

"There, granny! there! I was sure Pecksy would learn to love you," she exclaimed; and Pecksy looked up into the kind old lady's face, and seemed perfectly satisfied that no harm would come to it.

"Oh, I wish Norman would be fond of the little bird too," she said, "but he does not seem to care about it, and thinks it beneath his notice; and yet I have heard of many boys--not only little ones, but big boys, and even grown-up men--who were fond of birds, and have tamed them, and taught them to come to them, and learn to trust and love them."

"I do, indeed, wish that Norman was fond of your little bird," observed Mrs Leslie; "many n.o.ble and great men have been fond of dumb animals, and have found pleasure in the companionship even of little birds. It is no sign of true manliness to despise even the smallest of G.o.d's creatures, or to treat them otherwise than with kindness. You remember those lines of the poet Cowper which begin thus--

"'I would not enter on my list of friends (Though graced with polished manners and fine sense, Yet wanting sensibility) the man Who needlessly sets foot upon a worm.'

"They refer rather to cruelty to animals, but they occurred to me just now when thinking of Norman, and we must try to get him to learn them, as I am afraid that he does not consider that all G.o.d's creatures have feeling, and that he would carelessly injure them if they came in his way."

"I fear that at present he would do so, but then, he is very little,"

said f.a.n.n.y, "and perhaps if he learns those lines they may teach him to be kinder than he now is to dumb animals; still, I am sure he would not have the heart to hurt little Pecksy."

Poor f.a.n.n.y judged of Norman by herself, notwithstanding the way he had so constantly behaved. She little thought of what he was capable of doing, still less of what he would become capable as he grew older, unless he was altogether changed.

f.a.n.n.y had just returned Pecksy to his cage when the laird and Norman entered. Norman boasted of the way in which he had handled his rod.

"Mr Maclean says that I shall soon become a first-rate fly-fisher," he exclaimed. "I should have caught some fish to-day if I had had a hook.

He would not let me put one on for fear I should hook him or myself, but I am determined to have one next time, and then you will see I shall bring back a whole basketful of fish."