“Only think!” cried Ruth breathlessly, “Federl shot a stag of ten this morning at daybreak on the Red Peak, and he’s frightened out of his wits, for only the duke has a right to do that. Federl mistook it for a stag of eight. And they’re in the velvet, besides!” she added rather incoherently. “ _What_ luck! Poor Federl! I asked him if that meant _strafen,_ and he said he guessed not, only _zanken._” “What’s ‘strafen’ and what’s ‘zanken,’ Daisy?” asked the Colonel, pronouncing the latter like “z” in buzz. Ruth went up to her father and took his face between her hands, dropping a light kiss on his eyebrow. “ _Strafen_ is when one whips bad boys and t—s—_zanken_ is when one only scolds them. Which shall we do to you, dear? Both?” “We’ll take coffee first, and then we’ll see which there’s time for before we leave you hemming a pocket handkerchief while Rex and I go trout fishing.” “Such parents!” sighed Ruth, nestling down beside her father and looking over her cup at Rex, who gravely nodded sympathy. After breakfast, as Ruth stood waiting by the table where the fishing tackle lay, perfectly composed in manner, but unable to keep the color from her cheek and the sparkle of impatience from her eye, Gethryn thought he had seldom seen anything more charming. A soft gray Tam crowned her pretty hair. A caped coat, fastened to the throat, hung over the short kilt skirt, and rough gaiters buttoned down over a wonderful little pair of hobnailed boots. “I say! Ruth! what a stunner you are!” cried he with enthusiasm. She turned to the rod case and began lifting and arranging the rods. “Rex,” she said, looking up brightly, “I feel about sixteen today.” “Or less, judging from your costume,” said her mother. “Schicksalsee isn’t Rangely, you know. I only hope the good people in the little ducal court won’t call you theatrical.” “A theatrical stunner!” mused Ruth, in her clearest tones. “It is good to know how one strikes one’s friends.” “The disciplining of this young person is to be left to me,” said the colonel. “Daisy, everything else about you is all wrong, but your frock is all right.” “That is simple and comprehensive and reassuring,” murmured Ruth absently, as she bent over the fly-book with Gethryn. After much consultation and many thoughtful glances at the bit of water which glittered and dashed through the narrow meadow in front of the house, they arranged the various colored lures and leaders, and standing up, looked at Colonel Dene, reading his novel. “What? Oh! Come along, then!” said he, on being made aware that he was waited for, and standing up also, he dropped the volume into his creel and lighted a cigar. “Are you going to take that trash along, dear?” asked his daughter. “What trash? The work of fiction? That’s literature, as the gentleman said about Dante.” “Rex,” said Mrs Dene, buttoning the colonel’s coat over his snowy collar, “I put this expedition into your hands. Take care of these two children.”