"About eight years now." "Do you like it?" "Sometimes, not always. I wish we lived in Chicago. O-oh!" she sniffed, turning up her pretty nose, "isn't that lovely!" She was smelling some odor of flowers blown from a garden. "Yes, I get it too. Geraniums, isn't it? They're blooming here, I see. A day like this sets me crazy." He sat down in his boat and put his oars in place. "Well, I have to go and try my luck for whales. Wouldn't you like to go fishing?" "I would, all right," said Frieda, "only aunt wouldn't let me, I think. I'd just love to go. It's lots of fun, catching fish." "Yes, _catching_ fish," laughed Eugene. "Well, I'll bring you a nice little shark--one that bites. Would you like that? Down in the Atlantic Ocean they have sharks that bite and bark. They come up out of the water at night and bark like a dog." "O-o-oh, dear! how funny!" giggled Frieda, and Eugene began slowly rowing his boat lakeward. "Be sure you bring me a nice fish," she called. "Be sure you're here to get it when I come back," he answered. He saw her with the lattice of spring leaves behind her, the old house showing pleasantly on its rise of ground, some house-martens turning in the morning sky. "What a lovely girl," he thought. "She's beautiful--as fresh as a flower. That is the one great thing in the world--the beauty of girlhood." He came back after a time expecting to find her, but her foster-mother had sent her on an errand. He felt a keen sense of disappointment. There were other meetings after this, once on a day when he came back practically fishless and she laughed at him; once when he saw her sunning her hair on the back porch after she had washed it and she came down to stand under the trees near the water, looking like a naiad. He wished then he could take her in his arms, but he was a little uncertain of her and of himself. Once she came to his studio in the barn to bring him a piece of left-over dough which his mother had "turned" on the top of the stove. "Eugene used to be crazy about that when he was a boy," his mother had remarked. "Oh, let me take it to him," said Frieda gaily, gleeful over the idea of the adventure. "That's a good idea," said Angela innocently. "Wait, I'll put it on this saucer." Frieda took it and ran. She found Eugene staring oddly at his canvas, his face curiously dark. When her head came above the loft floor his expression changed immediately. His guileless, kindly smile returned. "Guess what," she said, pulling a little white apron she had on over the dish. "Strawberries." They were in season. "Oh, no." "Peaches and cream." "Where would we get peaches now?" "At the grocery store." "I'll give you one more guess." "Angel cake!" He was fond of that, and Angela occasionally made it. "Your guesses are all gone. You can't have any." He reached out his hand, but she drew back. He followed and she laughed. "No, no, you can't have any now."