"We are in unenclosed land here," I explained. "On our right is a patch
which varies between bog and marsh and pool, according to the rains. The
townsmen call it the King's Pool, whatever state it is in. Just ahead, you
can see the line of it, is a little stream, the Pearl Brook. If it isn't
frozen over yet, I can easily carry you across, as it's not more than six
inches deep. The freemen of the Ancient Borough--yon little town has
slumbered there nearly eight hundred years--have, by immemorial custom,
the right of fishing in the Pearl Brook with line and bent pin."
"They do not catch many thirty-pound jack, I suppose?"
"Dear me, no. But it was here I learned to like fishing, and I went on
from minnows and jacksharps to pike."
"And wandering damsels," she interrupted, with a laugh that sounded to me
like the music of silver bells. A minute later, on the edge of the brook,
she said vexedly, "And it's not frozen over." But I had already noticed
that fact with great elation.
"Not more than six inches, you say," she muttered, and made to step in.
"And if it were not so much as six barley-corns," I said, "I would not
suffer you to wade it.
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