not run very large, and Tregurtha's sport, though he had a dozen nice trout in his basket, was not of a nature to claim the highest powers of his intellect. An unexpected rousing came to him, however. A large and goodly fish rolled over suddenly and took the fly well in his mouth, then plunged for the lower depths and lay there sulking. Tregurtha was at once all promptitude and energy. He threw a stone to move the wary trout; he left it alone; he gave it a tentative jerk; he tried every means to persuade or frighten his victim into stirring, but it all seemed useless, the fish was obstinate. Tregurtha was just beginning to wonder whether he should have to walk in and fetch his trout, or whether he would take a seat and wait its pleasure, when the matter came to a crisis. One of the inquisitive young lambs, which was very tame, and thought Tregurtha was the farmer's lad, dashed suddenly in between his legs with a bound, after the sportive manner of its race.

Tregurtha stumbled, let the point of his rod down for an instant, recovered his footing, and hastily rectified his position. Alas! is it necessary to state that the line flew up flippantly into the empty air, and the fly settled on the top bough of an alder hanging over the opposite bank. The fish—well fishes, unlike human beings, know how to use an opportunity; this trout was off to the dentist to cure him of a toothache. Tregurtha was not an irritable man; he did not swear; he did not stamp; he turned to the mischief-working lamb and said: "Is this your vaunted innocence, you horrid little meddling beast?" and then he whistled softly to himself, rubbed up his rough hair all on end, and stood still, looking rueful.

"Oh, tell me how to woo thee, love!" sang suddenly a sweet voice round the bend of the stream, and then a break occurred in the song, and the singer petulantly exclaimed, "Oh, bothered be these stones forever; they are so slippery!"

Tregurtha's rod fell from his paralyzed hand as round the corner came, wading through the shallow part of the running stream close to the head of the very pool he was fishing, a maiden! Yes, and a lady too, though her gown was caught up and thrown over one arm, displaying as its substitute a short striped skirt of brilliant coloring, and her lovely feet shone white through the sunlit waters as unconsciously she stepped along.

"Heaven have mercy on me!" Tregurtha thought wildly, as he stood rooted to the spot, marveling meanwhile why he did not cast himself into the deep pool before him. The inevitable moment came; the damsel lifted her large dark eyes and saw him.

"Oh, I beg—I beg—I beg your pardon!" almost roared Tregurtha in the excess of his manly bashfulness.

What did the maid? Blushed crimson first, and stared at the intruder with a speechless horror, letting drop, by instinct, her pretty overskirt. Then she turned quickly, seized the branch of a large oak-tree and tried to raise herself by it to the opposite bank, where, once arrived, she could have vanished in a second through the wood. Alas! as she clung to the bough, the traitor broke, and down went the maiden, with a shivering cry, under the surface of the water. Well, at any rate, here was an occasion where a man need not feel an idiot, nor like Actæon before the wrath of Artemis. Tregurtha felt a sense of positive relief as he plunged in after the lady, and dragged her out and on to her much-desired bank, all breathless, faint, and frightened.

"I wonder now what on earth you would like me to do for you?" Tregurtha asked, depositing his burden respectfully upon a mossy seat.

"Oh—ah!—thank you. I think you had better perhaps go," the maiden answered, panting still for breath, and shaking her dripping hair.

"You are faint. You would like—at least, no, not some water—you have had enough, and I—I dare not offer you some whisky. There's your poor hat still in the water. Oh, gracious! to think of my spoiling all your pleasure in this way."

Tregurtha seized upon the hat, squeezing the water out of it (much to the detriment of its shape) as if it were the juice from an orange. Reduced to a pulp of straw and muslin, he brought it to its mistress, who, smiling, said, "This hat has seen many a wild frolic, but I sadly fear this most embarrassing, though amusing, incident has finished my companion, and it will cover my foolish head no more. I must go home, or I shall catch a cold."

"But pray accept my apologies—my most sincere and humblest apologies," began Tregurtha.

"I beg you will not mention—— Oh dear, dear!" The damsel burst suddenly into uncontrollable, resistless laughter. "Please could you keep away, right round the corner, until I fetch my boots? I am so sorry to have interrupted you in your, no doubt, successful fishing." Here she glanced inquiringly at the line caught and mazily entangled in the alder bush. "Good-morning, sir."

Tregurtha blushed deeply, bowed and strode away as though avenging Fate were at his heels—away over the meadow, through its little gate, along the road, down to the river again, where Roscoria stood coolly, immersed in hopes of monster trout.

"Well, old fellow; why, you've been wading! Fish gone?" asked Louis.

"Fish be —— I've had such an experience, Roscoria. I have seen a lady!"

"Mercy on us, Tregurtha! is that so unusual? Why, man, you are almost pale! Tell us your wonderful story."

Tregurtha did so, "with stammering lips and insufficient sound," whilst Roscoria opened his basket and took therefrom an ample lunch, besides displaying the trout he had caught. "They are not large," he said, surveying the fish affectionately, "but they are very beautiful. And now, friend, are you too much overcome for mutton sandwiches, or will you try a limb of that blessed duck that old Rodda sent down?"

"But, Roscoria," murmured Tregurtha, as he ate, "I am afraid you don't quite enter into the extreme indelicacy of the situation!"

"Far be it from me," retorted Louis—"cake, Tregurtha?"

"Not with duckling, thank you. The lady—her feet—I should say her boots——"

"Were off, I understand," quoth Louis, dryly. "Hallo! is this the lady?"

He alluded to the appearance of a very small girl, bare-foot, grave, and chubby, who wandered into the meadow from an adjacent farmyard, and stood as near as she dared go to the sportsmen, gazing with friendly, covetous eyes on their outspread repast.

"Child," said Roscoria at last, "do you like cake?"

The infant nodded her head solemnly, her big eyes brightening the while.

"Then take hold of this and be merry," replied the pedagogue, extending an ambrosial slice. The small child hesitated after the manner of her sex and age, hung her head, bit her tiny fingers, and finally advanced and received the donation. She did not seem at all inclined to go, but stood solemnly munching by Roscoria's side as he reclined on the grass, and she did not prevent the crumbs from falling down his neck, which was not pleasant.

"Child," said Roscoria again, "you may sit down." Down sat the wee lass comfortably enough, and gazed into Roscoria's fine black eyes as if she had not often seen so goodly a gentleman. Roscoria endeavored hard to meet her stare, and for five minutes or so he succeeded; but those two serious blue eyes embarrassed him at length, and, turning to Tregurtha, with a somewhat nervous laugh, he observed, in Greek, that the infant was alarming to him, and that he should be compelled to hide his eyes within his robe. "Who gave you—I mean, what is your name?" Tregurtha asked the baby. True to her training, the child arose, shook out her frock, and made a courtesy, whilst she answered, with effort to remember:

"Hanner Marier."

"Then Hannah—or Anna—Maria, would your mother give us each a glass of cider,