Cautiously, and by degrees, Ruth laced her little gloved fingers over the flying line, and presently a quiver of the rod showed that the fish was checked. She reeled in, slowly and steadily for a moment, and then, whiz—z—z! off he dashed again. At seventy feet the rod trembled and the trout was still. Again and again she urged him toward the shore, meeting his furious dashes with perfect coolness and leading him dexterously away from rocks and roots. When he sulked she gave him the butt, and soon the full pressure sent him flying, only to end in a furious full length leap out of water, and another sulk. The colonel’s cigar went out. At last she spoke, very quietly, without looking back. “Rex, there is no good place to beach him here; will you net him, please?” Rex was only waiting for this; he had his landing net already unslung and he waded to her side. “Now!” she whispered. The fiery side of a fish glittered just beneath the surface. With a skillful dip, a splash, and a spatter the trout lay quivering on the bank. Gethryn quickly ended his life and held him up to view. “Beautiful!” cried the colonel. “Good girl, Daisy! but don’t spoil your frock!” And picking up his own rod he relighted his cigar and essayed some conscientious casting on his own account. But he soon wearied of the paths of virtue and presently went in search of a grasshopper, with evil intent. Meanwhile Ruth was blushing to the tips of her ears at Gethryn’s praises. “I never saw a prettier sight!” he cried. “You’re—you’re splendid, Ruth! Nerve, judgment, skill—my dear girl, you have everything!” Ruth’s eyes shone like stars as she watched him in her turn while he sent his own flies spinning across a pool. And now there was nothing to be heard but the sharp whistle of the silk and the rush of the water. It seemed a long time that they had stood there, when suddenly the colonel created a commotion by hooking and hauling forth a trout of meagre proportions. Unheeding Rex’s brutal remarks, he silently inspected his prize dangling at the end of the line. It fell back into the water and darted away gayly upstream, but the colonel was not in the least disconcerted and strolled off after another grasshopper. “Papa! are you a bait fisherman!” cried his daughter severely. The colonel dropped his hat guiltily over a lively young cricket, and standing up said “No!” very loud. It was no use—Ruth had to laugh, and shortly afterward he was seated comfortably on the log again, his line floating with the stream, in his hands a volume with yellow paper covers, the worse for wear, bearing on its back the legend “Calman Levy, Editeur.” Rex soon struck a good trout and Ruth another, but the first one remained the largest, and finally Gethryn called to the colonel, “If you don’t mind, we’re going on.”