“From starvation. I was a famished wayfarer and he took me in. There, Daddy, don't puzzle your poor brain any longer. It is all right and I'll tell you all about it when we get home. Now I am sure we should be starting if we are to have any fishing at all. Shall we cast off, Mr.--that is, Captain Paine?” That fishing trip was not a huge success if judged solely by the size of the catch. The weakfish were not hungry or we did not tempt them with bait to their taste that day. We got a half dozen, of which I caught three, Miss Colton two, and her father but one. His, however, was a big one, much the biggest of the six, and he had a glorious time landing it. He fished as he appeared to do everything else, with intense earnestness and determination. He evidently considered the struggle a sort of personal disagreement between the fish and himself and, as usual, intended to have his way. He succeeded after a while, and announced that he had not enjoyed anything as much since arriving in Denboro. His daughter also seemed to be enjoying herself. She was quite as good a fisher as her father, and, when the sport was over, and we reeled in our lines preparatory to starting for home, rallied him not a little at having been the least successful of the party. He took her teasing good-naturedly. “You think it is quite a feat to get the better of your old dad, don't you, my lady,” he observed. “Of course I do. It is, isn't it?” He chuckled. “Well, maybe you're right,” he admitted. “You do it oftener than any one else, that is certain. Paine, you might take lessons from her, if you are still hoping to keep up your end in the little fight you and I have on hand.” She turned to me and smiled. Her graceful head was silhouetted against the red glow of the sunset and a loosened strand of her hair waved in the light breeze. “I think Mr. Paine does not need lessons from any one,” she said. “He seems to be holding his own very well.” “But he's frightened, all the same. Come, Paine, own up now. You know you are frightened, don't you?” “Not very,” I answered, truthfully. “So? Then you aren't as sensible as you ought to be. A wise man knows when to be scared. Let's make a little bet on it. I'll bet you two to one that I'll own that land of yours inside of six months.” I shook my head. “I never bet on certainties,” I declared. “I should be ashamed to collect my winnings.” This seemed to amuse them both, for they both laughed. “Father,” said Miss Colton, “I am afraid you don't learn by experience. You have lost one bet already, you know.” “That's so. And I haven't paid it yet, either. I must, or you'll be telling every one that I am a poor sport. Paine, this young lady bet me a new pipe against a box of gloves that you wouldn't--” “Father,” broke in the young lady, herself, “stop.” “Oh, all right, all right. Just as you say. But I tell you this, Paine; SHE hasn't any scruples against betting on certainties.”