Seated at her feet was a boy of thirteen years or there-abouts. He was hugging his knees and digging his heels at the same time into the soft earth. He also looked as if he had escaped from a party, like the little girl, for his short breeches were of sky-blue silk, with great knee-buckles, and his hair was done up like a little wig and tied with a big black ribbon. There was a rip in the sleeve of his blue velvet coat, and the lace about his neck had become twisted and was hanging over one shoulder. "I wonder what Uncle Daniel will look like? I trust he will bring us something fine from England," said the boy. "I'd like to go back there with him, if he'd take us all." "Yes, if he'd take us all, and we might get in to the army--eh?" came a voice from the top of the steep bank opposite. It was quite startling, the reply was exactly like an echo; but that was not the strangest part. Flat on the ground lay another boy of thirteen. If the first had been copied by a maker of wax-works, line for line and color for color, the two could not have been more alike. In fact, the only difference was that the second had on pink silk breeches, which were very much muddied at the knees. He held in his extended hand a roughly trimmed fishing-pole. "I feel another nibble," said the boy who had last spoken, leaning further over the water. "Yes, there, there!" exclaimed the other on the lower bank. "Now we've got him!" There was a swish, and a trout came plashing and twisting into the sunlight. He had not been very firmly hooked, however, for, after a short flight through the air, he tumbled almost into the lap of the little girl. She gave a laugh, and, dropping her garland, managed to secure the gasping little fish, together with a handful of grass and leaves. "Do put him back, William," she said, leaning forward. "He's much too small. I pray you put him back." The boy took the trout, and, crawling to the water's edge, set him free, and laughed as he darted off and hid, wriggling himself under a sunken log. At this minute the bushes were parted just behind where the two had been seated, and a strange figure came into sight. It was an old colored man. He had on a three-cornered hat, much too large for his woolly head, and under his arm he carried a bundle of freshly cut switches. He wore also an old flowered waistcoat that reached almost to his knees, and hung loosely about his thin figure. The waistcoat was still quite gaudy, and showed patches here and there of worn gold lace. "Mars Willem, I's jes done de bes' I could," said the old darky, with a bow. The boy looked over the bundle of rods and picked out two of them. "Cato," he said in an authoritative manner that showed no ill-humor, "you are a lazy rascal, sir; go back and get me one just as long as this and just as thin as this one, and straight, too, mark ye."