Louie’s brown eyes looked steadily at him, and her face flushed as she replied very frankly: “I hardly know what he did; there were so many things, and he did not stay long in any. Got tired and tried another. He was in a bank for a while, and in a store and insurance office, and I don’t know what else; a rolling stone, mother used to call him, but he managed at times to make a lot of money, which he spent very freely, and then didn’t have much till he made some more. He is doing a great deal better now. Why do you ask me? Have you any particular reason?” Louie’s eyes were very bright, and Herbert felt his own droop beneath them. He had not realized all his question might lead to, and was wondering how to answer her, when she again said to him: “What is it? Tell me!” “Oh, nothing much,” he began. “There are a heap of liars in the world—jealous pates—who hint that your father is—a—or was—a—” Here he came to a dead stop, for Louie’s eyes were getting dangerous. “Is—er—was—er—what? Speak out, or I’ll get up and go straight home.” “I’d like to see you do it,” Herbert answered laughingly. “Don’t bounce about so. You’ll upset the boat, and I can’t swim.” “I can,” she said, contemptuously; “and what is it? What do the liars say of father? That he is a thief, or murderer, or gambler, or what?” “Why, no—or, yes—er—you’ve hit it partly,” Herbert stammered, but got no farther, for Louie sprang to her feet with a movement as if she were going to jump overboard, and did nearly upset the boat. “Sit down, Louie. Sit down. Don’t be so peppery, and I’ll tell you. Some folks do say that he gambled before he came here, and speculates now.” “It’s false!” Louie exclaimed. “It’s false!” and she struck her hand in the river with such force that great splashes of water were thrown into the boat. “Of course it’s a lie, I know that,” Herbert said, trying to quiet her. “I don’t know why I told you, only I wanted to contradict it.” “You may. You can. He never gambled, and as to speculating, lots do that all the time in New York and Chicago and everywhere. You would do it if you could make money by it. But I don’t believe father does. I know he never gambled; that’s different,” Louie answered vehemently; then, suddenly, as if some wave of memory had swept over her, there came a hard look into her eyes, and drops of sweat stood around her lips, which were very white, as was the rest of her face. Herbert thought she was going to cry, but she only said very low: “Let’s go home.” “No, no—not yet. It is so nice out here,” Herbert replied. “There is more I want to tell you.” “If it is about father, I do not wish to hear it,” Louie said. “It isn’t,” Herbert replied. “It is about my cousin, Fred Lansing. You have heard of him?”