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"I? Why, no.

What else would you use?'

Flies," I said,

it."

desperately. "You know

"Flies? Can you catch enough?"

"I mean artificial flies," I said. "You don't understand, you can't conceive the depth of depravity that leads a man to catch a trout as I've caught this, can you? It's simple murder."

"But," said Miss Thorne, with a puzzled glance at the fish, "I thought that I caught him."

"I-I baited the hook," I faltered.

"Then," said she, "it's a clear case of collusion, and we 're both responsible."

We looked at each other for an instant. She sighed, almost imperceptibly.

"I am very sorry for what I said that night," I began. "You can't think how it has troubled me ever since. I have suffered a great deal-er -and I'm deucedly miserable, Miss Thorne."

I forgive you," she said sweetly. you not ask me before?"

"Why did

"Because," said I, "being an idiot I did n't

dare."

"It made me very unhappy," she said. “I should not have spoken so

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"Oh, you were quite right!" I cried ;

my fault entirely."

"No indeed !"

It was, really."

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"And to think I should have spoken so after the trout you gave me and the serenade-—_))

"If the music had been as good as the trout"

“It was,—it was charming; and you said some things that first afternoon under my window———’ "I meant them!-I mean them now a thousandfold !"

The crimson stained her cheeks. She half turned toward the river.

"I think," she said, "that I am late for luncheon."

Very humbly I produced my flask of Bordeaux, my cold chicken, bread, and hot-house pears. She looked at them, her head on one side.

"It is not very much," I ventured,-" for two." "I think it will do," she said reflectively; there are some cresses by the brook. I am fond of cresses. Have you pepper and salt?"

I rummaged in my pockets, produced the harmonica, a package of tobacco, a spare reel, a knife, a steel hunting watch, a cigarette case, a box of dry flies, a match-case, a box of leaders, and finally a neat little parcel of pepper and salt.

She watched me with perfect gravity.

"If you please," she said, "you may go and play on your harmonica under that oak tree while I arrange the table. Will you?"

"Can't I help you?" I murmured, giddy with happiness.

"No. Go and play Sir Daniel O'Donnell.'"

I watched her, tooting fitfully the while, and presently she called to me that luncheon was ready, and asked me to lend her my handkerchief to dry her hands.

We drank in turn from the flask, gravely begging pardon for the goutte sans façon.

But the luncheon! There never was such a luncheon served in the palaces of Stamboul! I ate ambrosia-some name it chicken-and I drank nectar-foolish people would have called it Bordeaux, and I sat opposite to and looked in the blue eyes of the sweetest maid in the world.

And so we sat and chatted on, I knowing little of what was said save that it was her voice, always her voice in my ears and every word was melody. The swift droop of the long lashes on the pure curved cheeks, the gentle caress in every movement, the light glinting on tawny hair, on stray curling strands blown across her eyes-these I remember.

The shadows came and laid their long shapes on the sands of the shore, the trees darkened where the massed foliage swept in one unbroken sheet above the moss; the red west blazed.

Once a fish splashed among the weeds; a woodduck steered fearlessly past, peering and turning, sousing its gorgeous neck in the shallow stream.

At last she sprang up, touching her hair with light swift fingers, and shaking her skirts full breadth.

"I must go."

So soon?"

Yes. morrow?"

Say it."

Shall I say good-bye now for to

Good-bye, then."

Is that all?"

"Good-bye

Nothing more?

Oh, what-what else?" she murmured; “I

can say no more."

"I can," said I.

"You must not-ah, do you mean it?" Yes. I love you."

Then we will go back-together," she said, innocently, and came close up to me, laying her white hands in mine.

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'Ah," said I, as we entered the road by the dormitory," the trout is a noble one, but, May, it was murder that was done on Clovermead water." "And theft," she said, with a faint smile, "where is my heart, if you please?"

And we looked long, smiling into each other's

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*
I have never

It all happened years ago. touched bait to hook since, but I confess that I do still, at times, play "Sir Daniel O'Donnell " on the harmonica. May permits it, especially when the children beg me; and, as they are teasing me now, I shall probably play it to-night.

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