"What kind of fish?" asked the black-eyed boy, with kindling look.

"Little fish with silver tails," said Hugh, "and shining eyes.
They look at me, and sometimes I think they listen to what I say;
but they cannot speak, you know."

"Ho! I should think not!" said Black-eyes, scornfully. "I mean
what KIND of fish are they, when you catch 'em,--minnows, or dace,
or sticklebacks, or what? What are their names?"

"I do not know that," said Hugh. "I never thought of their names;
and I don't catch them."

"Why not? Wouldn't you be let? Don't the people in the house allow
fishing? I thought you said they were nice people!" and my lord
showed a face of keen disgust.

"I don't want to catch them," said Hugh, quietly. "Why should I?
They swim about, and I see them shine like silver and purple under
the brown water. Sometimes they have crimson spots, like drops of
blood, or ruby stones. Look! there is one now, a ruby-spotted
one!"

"Oh, my crickey!" cried the strange boy, jumping up, and dancing
from one foot to the other. "It's a trout, you idiot! Gimme a
line! gimme a net, or something! Gimme--" He snatched off his cap,
and made a frantic effort to catch the trout, which flipped its
tail quietly at him, and withdrew under a rock.