forgot the affair of honour that had taken place in the morning.

H.O.

changed rods with Dicky because H.O.'s was the best rod, and Dicky baited H.
O.'s hook for him, just like loving, unselfish brothers in Sunday School magazines.
We were talking fishlikely as we went along down the lane and through the cornfield and the cloverfield, and then we came to the other lane where we had seen the Baby.

The tramps were gone, and the perambulator was gone, and, of course, the Baby was gone too.
'I wonder if those gipsies HAD stolen the Baby ?' Noel said dreamily.

He had not fished much, but he had made a piece of poetry.