After lunch Jean went to wring out the clothes and hang them on
the bushes to dry, while Jock and Sandy examined Alan's wonderful
book of flies and his reel, and even the creel in which he was to
have put the fish, if he had caught any.

"Losh, man!" exclaimed Sandy, swaggering about with his hands in
his pockets, "that's all very well. Aye, it's a good game, and
you might go dandering along a stream all day playing. with it,
but if you really want fish, just go after 'em yourself! That's
my way. Guddling for trout like you saw me and Jock do, that's
the real sport!"

"I believe you," said Alan. "I'm going to try it myself. Come on.
Let's go farther up stream and see if we can find another good
fishing-hole. I told Eppie I'd bring her a fish to her tea, and
I'd hate to go back with nothing at all," and the three boys
disappeared in the woods.

Jean finished her work by the brook and went to the house to make
more scones, for the picnic had exhausted the supply and they
used no other bread. She bustled about the kitchen, mixing,
spreading them on the girdle over the fire, keeping the coals
bright, and turning them out nicely browned on the mixing-board.
She was just finishing the sixth one, when there was a great
thumping at the door, and she ran to see what was the matter.
There on the doorstep stood the three boys, Alan dripping wet
from head to heel, shivering with cold, and with mud and water
running from him in streams. Jean threw up her hands.

"It's most michty," she cried, "if I can't ever bake scones in