The Black Tor: A Tale of the Reign of James the First by George Manville Fenn (classic romance novels .TXT) 📕

It was on one of those glorious early summer mornings when the air seems full of joy, and it is a delight even to exist, that, as the sycamores and beeches in their early green were alive with song, there came a rattle of tiny bits of spar against Mark Eden’s casement window, and he sprang out of bed to throw it open and look down upon Ralph Darley, armed with lissom rod over his shoulder and creel on back.

“Oh, I say,” he cried, “asleep, and on a morning like this!”

“Yes, but you’re too soon.”

“Soon? Why, I’m a quarter of an hour late. Be quick, the May-fly are up, and the trout feeding like mad, and as for the grayling, I saw the biggest—oh! do make haste.”

“Shan’t be long.”

“And Mark, tell Mary that father is going to bring Min up about twelve, and they are to meet us with the dinner-basket up by the alder weir. Well, why don’t you make haste and dress?”

“I was thinking,” said Mark, with a broad smile.

“What about?”

“Oh, here’s Dummy with the net,” cried Mark. “Hi! you sir! why didn’t you come and call me at the proper time?”

“Morn’, Master Ralph,” said the lad, with a friendly grin. Then with an ill-used look up at the window:

“’Tis proper time. You said six, and it aren’t that yet.”

“There,” cried Mark; “you are too soon.”

“Very well. It was so fine; but I say, what were you thinking about?”

Mark grinned again.

“Is it so very comic?” said Ralph impatiently.

“That depends on what you say.”

“Well, let’s hear.”

“I was thinking that you and I have never finished that fight.”

“No; you haven’t been down to steal our ravens. I say, Mark, what do you say? Shall we? They’re building there again.”

“Let ’em,” said Mark, “in peace.”