"I've got to make Delancy fish or we won't have enough trout for luncheon.

Scott!" calling to her brother, "your horrid trout won't rise this morning.

For goodness' sake, try to catch something beside lizards and water-beetles!" For a moment she stood looking around her, as though perplexed and preoccupied.

There was sunlight on the glade and on the ripples, but the daylight seemed to have become duller to her.
She walked up-stream for a little distance before she noticed Grandcourt plodding faithfully at her heels.
"Oh!" she said impatiently, "I thought you were fishing.

You must catch something, you know, or we'll all go hungry." "Nothing bites on these bally flies," he explained.
"Nothing bites because your flies are usually caught in a tree-top.
Trout are not arboreal.