CHAPTER TWENTY TWO.
A WOOLLY PATIENT AND A SCARE.
The man had approached over the soft moss unheard, though Nic had had warning of his coming from the cockatoos, which had shrieked out their alarm notes as he came down from among the sheep.
"Why, Leather, I did not hear you coming," said Nic, half annoyed by the interruption.
"I suppose not, sir.

You were too intent.

Don't they bite ?" "No, not a bit," said Nic gruffly; and to himself, "I wish he'd go." "What are you fishing with, sir ?" "Worms." "They will only take worms after a flood, when the water's thick." Then without a word the man walked away, and Nic drew his line sharply from the water.
"Might have told me what bait they would take," muttered the boy.
"Perhaps he doesn't know.

Wish I had brought some paste.

I don't care; that's good enough bait for anything.