“Yonder it goes!” cries Rupert, with unfeeling gayety. “Sailing down-stream as fast as it can to the pools.” We all turn just in time to see the hat whirled over the ledge of rock, and, after bobbing about for a minute or two in the largest pool, finally disappear. “Oh, I am so sorry!” says Sylvia. “I have worn that hat all over the mountains, and I wanted to take it home. How provoking to think of losing it here, on _this_ side of the Blue Ridge!” “Wait a bit,” says Charley. “You shall have it yet.” He springs up the bank, darts lightly over the fallen tree, and we watch him making his way through the dense undergrowth which lines the opposite bank until he reaches the pool. There he provides himself with a long, crooked stick and waits. “Now,” says Eric, “when that hat reappears he is going to fish for it, and ten to one he’ll tumble into the pool himself.” “Oh, he must not do that!” cries Sylvia, alarmed. “The hat is not worth any risk— in fact, I don’t care about it at all. Of course, it is utterly ruined. Charley!” (elevating her voice), “O Charley! _please_ come away! Let the hat alone!” But Charley is obstinate. He means to capture that hat, and, when it reappears a minute later, he at once begins to chase it with his stick. Sylvia watches him in great anxiety, as, with one arm around a tree to steady himself, he leans far over the pool and fishes indefatigably. “I _know_ he will fall!” she says. “It is exactly the way he did at Lover’s Retreat.” “Don’t distress yourself,” says Eric. “If he falls, I will go down and fish for _him_.” “He’s got it on the stick,” says Rupert. “Now he’s drawn it out. Look, Sylvia!” Sylvia is looking. Charley waves the hat triumphantly, then turns and makes his way up the bank, crosses the tree, and displays the dripping prize to its owner. Luckily, it is merely a felt hat, with no other trimming than a band of ribbon. Therefore, when dry, it will not be much the worse for its wetting, and its owner regards it with pride and complacency. “It has been down to the bottom of the bottomless pool!” she says. “What an adventure for it—and what a _souvenir_ for me! Thank you, Charley, for restoring it to me—but what if you had fallen in yourself?” “Should you have cared?” asks Charley. “By the law of reprisal, I ought to have a ducking to pay for yours at the Bridal—” “Why do you harp on that?” she interrupts, impatiently. “It was not your fault—I said _that_ at the time.” “It was my fault for trying to force an answer which you did not care to give,” says Charley, “and you served me exactly right when you gave it as you did.” _Mem._: These two are on the rocks by the fallen tree alone; the others have gone down to the pools, and only I—who lingered on the hillside to gather some ferns— overhear this conversation.