The brook foamed and bubbled down its steep, rocky bed, splashed up jets of rainbow spray into the air, and plunged in miniature cascades over tiny gullies; the wet stones flashed in the light upon the banks, and tall daisies, peering over, painted shifting white outlines of themselves in the swelling current and the shallow pools; here and there, too, where the water was deep, the fish darted to the surface, and darted out of sight.
"Isn't it _beau_--tiful!" cried Sarah.
"Pretty enough," said Gypsy, affecting carelessness, and trying to unwind her line in as _au fait_ and boyish a manner as possible.
"You girls keep this pool.

Mr.Hallam and I are going a little ways up stream," said Tom.

"Now don't speak a word, and be sure you don't scream if you catch a fish by any chance between you, and frighten them all away." "As if I didn't know that! Here, Sarah, hold your rod lower," said Gypsy, assuming a professional air.

Mr.Hallam and Tom walked away, and the girls fished for just half an hour in silence.

That is to say, they sat on the bank, and held a rod.