pretty, brown-eyed girl, whose flushed cheeks took on a deeper color as she smiled at the boy.

"That's him, Clara," called out Adrian. "That's him, 'n' I threw him, too."

"Thet's your cousin Clara," put in Mr. Kimball. "I guess ye never seen her before, 'cause th' last time yer mother were here, Clara wa'n't born yit, 'n' I vum, ye was such' a leetle chap, thet it were hard work t' locate ye, in yer long dresses," and he laughed heartily at the remembrance.

Clara held out her hand, which Roger shook warmly. She was a girl of fourteen, and was almost as large as Roger. He thought her one of the prettiest girls he had ever seen.

"I'm so glad you got here safely," she said. "I suppose Ade made you wrestle as soon as you got off the stage. I believe he would rather roll in the dirt that way than eat," and she glanced at her brother, who was turning a handspring nimbly.

"Not much I wouldn't! Not when I know supper's so near ready," answered Adrian, landing on his feet near Clara.

Then Roger became aware of the nicest odor coming from the region of the kitchen. He thought it was the best he had ever smelled, for he was hungry, more hungry than he had been in several weeks, as his appetite had not been good of late. Now it seemed as if he could not get to the table quickly enough.

Once in the house Mrs. Kimball lost no time. She led Roger to his room, a pleasant chamber next to where Adrian slept, and, when she had seen his valise and trunk brought up, and showed him where the washbowl and pitcher of water could be found, she left him to prepare for supper.

For a minute or two Roger felt a flood of lonesomeness come over him. It was so very quiet, out there in the country, more quiet than he had ever supposed it possible to be. Even though it was only six o'clock, it was more silent than at midnight in New York, where, indeed, there is never lack of noise. Through the open window of the room came only the faint rattle of a distant wagon down the dusty road, and the chirp of crickets, that had begun their evening song early. For the first time since Roger had started he wished himself home again. It wasn't half as nice, this going away, as he had thought it would be. He felt a lump coming into his throat and a trace of moisture into his eyes.

Surely he couldn't be going to cry? What, cry? Of course not. Who ever heard of such a thing, even though it did seem lonesome just at first, you know, and even though he couldn't help feeling a trifle homesick. He controlled his feelings, poured out the water, and dashed it into his face vigorously. When he had finished using the towel he broke into a cheery whistle that penetrated to the rooms below; and then he bethought himself of his determination to wrestle and throw Adrian some day. He was ready to go downstairs now.

It was a very merry supper. Roger had his first taste of salt-rising bread, which is made without yeast, and he voted it the best he ever ate. He had fresh buckwheat honey, which had been taken from the hives that same day, his uncle told him. Then there was crisp, brown ham, and golden eggs, sugar-coated crullers, and rich creamy milk, and Roger surprised himself by the manner in which he put away the victuals.

The evening was spent in the "settin' room," as Mrs. Kimball called it, where they had kerosene lamps, which seemed strange to the city boy, used only to gas or electricity. About nine o'clock Roger's eyes began to get heavy, and to feel as if they had sticks in them. His head nodded once or twice, even while his uncle was talking to him.

"Bedtime," announced Mr. Kimball, suddenly, and Roger was glad to hear him say so. With a small lamp his aunt lighted the way to his room.

"I say!" called Adrian from his apartment, when Roger had settled snug between the cool sheets,—"I say, Roger."

"Well?"

"We'll go fishing to-morrow. I know a deep hole where we can get some dandy fat chubs."

"Good," called Roger, through his open door. "That will be sport."

He fell to listening to the dreamy chirp of the crickets and the trilling of the tree-toads. Gradually these sounds became fainter and fainter, and at last he could only hear them as if the insects were a score of miles away. Roger was sound asleep.

CHAPTER IV

IN DEEP WATER

The sun was well up over the eastern hills, shining down warm and mellow on Cardiff valley when Roger awoke next morning. At first he could scarcely remember where he was, so many changes of location had he gone through lately. He looked at the old-fashioned wall paper, listened to the rustling of the wind in the trees, and wondered if he was not dreaming. Then he gradually recalled the events of the day before. He got out of bed with a jump, and was dressing when Adrian came in.

"Hello, Roger," was the greeting, "how'd you sleep?"

"Fine," answered Roger.

Then Adrian looked at the clothes his cousin was putting on. It was the same suit Roger had worn when he arrived.

"Oh, I say," exclaimed Adrian. "Don't tog out in these. We're going fishing, you know, and you'll need your old duds to go through the woods with. You'll spoil a good suit."

Then for the first time Roger realized that he didn't have to dress for school. He remembered that he was not going to study his lessons, and had only to go out into the air and sunshine, to listen to the birds, and to tramp through the fields. For the first time it came to him that, even though he was not as well and strong as many other boys, there was a good time ahead of him, and a chance for him to become as sturdy as Adrian.

"That's so, we are going fishing to-day," remarked Roger. "I'd forgotten all about it, I slept so soundly. I thought I was back in New York."

He made haste to replace his good suit with an older though serviceable one, which would stand hard usage. Then the two boys went down to breakfast, which meal, Roger was sure, tasted even better than the supper of the night previous.

"Wa'al, what's th' schedule fer t'-day?" asked Mr. Kimball, as he gulped down his second cup of coffee. "You boys goin' arter b'ar er mountain lions?"

"Are there bears in these woods?" inquired Roger, eagerly.

"Mussy sakes, no!" exclaimed Mrs. Kimball, "but 't wouldn't be yer Uncle Bert ef he did n't fool some un. Skunks 'n' squirrels, 'n' onct in a while a wild-cat, is th' biggest beasts in these parts."

"Now, mother," began Mr. Kimball, his mouth half full of potato, "ye know there is b'ars in th' woods. Didn't ye run away from one last fall, when ye were pickin' blackberries? Now, own up, did n't ye?"

"Oh, thet one," answered Mrs. Kimball, as she set a plate of buckwheat cakes in front of Roger. "He was th' tame b'ar thet got away from th' Italian organ grinder."

"Scared ye most int' a spasm, though," commented Mr. Kimball, laughing so heartily that he nearly choked on a piece of bread.

"Go along 'n' eat yer breakfust, 'n' git at th' chores," advised Mrs. Kimball, smiling a bit at the recollection of the incident.

"We're going over to Limestone creek, fishing," said Adrian. "George Bennett was there yesterday and got fifteen chub."

"Got any bait?" asked Mr. Kimball.

"Going to dig some right away," replied Adrian, trying to make short work of the meal. Roger, too, was busy with the victuals.

"Now I don't know 'bout this," began Mr. Kimball with a grave air, in contrast to his former jolly tone. "Roger didn't come out here t' start right in 'n' tramp eight er ten miles, 'n' git all tired out. His mother 'n' father wants him t' rest