"Strangers always mention it," sighed Elnora. "I wonder how it would
seem to be a pale, languid lady and ride in a carriage."

"Ask me!" laughed the man. "It feels like the--dickens! I'm so proud of
my feet. It's quite a trick to stand on them now. I have to keep out
of the water all I can and stop to baby every half-mile. But with
interesting outdoor work I'll be myself in a week."

"Do you call that work?" Elnora indicated the creek.

"I do, indeed! Nearly three miles, banks too soft to brag on and never a
strike. Wouldn't you call that hard labour?"

"Yes," laughed Elnora. "Work at which you might kill yourself and
never get a fish. Did any one tell you there were trout in Sleepy Snake
Creek?"

"Uncle said I could try."

"Oh, you can," said Elnora. "You can try no end, but you'll never get
a trout. This is too far south and too warm for them. If you sit on the
bank and use worms you might catch some perch or catfish."

"But that isn't exercise."

"Well, if you only want exercise, go right on fishing. You will have a
creel full of invisible results every night."

"I object," said the man emphatically. He stopped work again and studied
Elnora. Even the watching mother could not blame him. In the shade of