“You are going out tonight?” asked his decent wife, when he took another bite.

“Yes, I am.”

“May I go with you, father?” asked his son, briskly.

“No, you mayn’t. I’m a going⁠—as your mother knows⁠—a fishing. That’s where I’m going to. Going a fishing.”

“Your fishing-rod gets rayther rusty; don’t it, father?”

“Never you mind.”

“Shall you bring any fish home, father?”

“If I don’t, you’ll have short commons, tomorrow,” returned that gentleman, shaking his head; “that’s questions enough for you; I ain’t a going out, till you’ve been long abed.”