I say, though, talk 'bout ketching; hev the squire and Farmer Tallington ketched the chap as sat fire to Grimsey stables ?" "Nobody set fire to Grimsey stables," said Tom.

"It was to the stacks." "Nay, lad, I knows better than that," cried Dave, shaking his head.
"Why, didn't I see with my own eyes as roof weer all bont off the top o' stable, and doors gone." "Yes; but the stable caught fire from the stacks," said Dick.
"Yah! how could it?
Why, it's reight the other side o' the house." "Well, couldn't the sparks and flames of fire float over and set light to the thatch ?" cried Dick.
"Set fire to the thack!" said Dave.

"Ah, well, I warn't theer! But hev they ketched him ?" "No, and not likely to.

There, never mind Tallington's stacks; let's try for the pike." "Ay, lads, we will," said Dave, and, plunging his hand into the bucket, he took out a transparent gudgeon, whose soft backbone was faintly visible against the light; then carefully passing the hook through its tough upper lip, he dropped it over the side of the boat into the water directly.
"Theer, lads," he said; "now over with that blether." Dick seized the line, and as the gudgeon swam off he dropped the bladder over the side, and it was slowly towed away.
"I wish fishing wasn't so precious cruel," said Tom, as he watched the bladder dance upon the surface, while the punt was slowly thrust away from the neighbourhood of the reed-bed, where the big pike was supposed to lie.
"'Tisn't cruel," said Dick.
"'Tis.

How should you like to be that gudgeon with a hook in your mouth, or the pike when he's caught ?" "Sarve him right for killing all the little fishes," growled Dave, punting gently along.
"Why did you come fishing ?" said Dick sharply.
"'Cause I like it," said Tom frankly; "but it's cruel all the same.