"I stepped on him by accident," explained Jock, "and butted him
into the burn."

"No wonder he was mad," laughed the boy. "Come on, now. Surely a
body can fish. There's no law against that!"

"Well," said Sandy, "law or no law, Angus is against it, and the
Auld Laird is terrible particular. He's going to turn out all the
farmers in this region and make it into a great game preserve.
Nothing else. You're strange hereabouts, I doubt, or you'd ken
all this yourself. Where are you from?"

"I'm from London," replied the boy. "I'm staying with Eppie
McLean at the castle."

"Are you, now?" gasped Sandy. "Is Eppie your aunt, maybe? She'll
be telling you about Angus herself."

"Eppie's not my aunt," said the boy. "She's a friend of my
mother, and my mother got her to take me in because I've been
sick, and she thought I'd get strong up here, and I 'm not going
to have my summer spoiled by Angus Niel or any other old bogie
man. Stand back now while I cast."

He swung his rod over his head, and the fly fell with a flop in
the middle of the pool. He waited a breathless instant while
Jock, Sandy, and Jean watched the fly with him, and then, as
nothing happened, he cast again. When several such attempts
brought no result, he said, "You're sure they 're there?"