For a second Dan seemed unable to believe his ears, then without a word
he closed his basket and walked away. He was more deeply hurt than he
had ever been in his life before, and his face showed it. Kitty and
Tony, hesitating in the hall, saw it, and their eyes filled with tears.
"Throw it away, will you?" he said in a choked voice, holding out the
unfortunate basket to Kitty.

Kitty, knowing how she would have felt under similar circumstances, took
it without looking at him; instinctive delicacy told her not to.
"Father didn't mean it," she whispered consolingly. "You will come down
and have some supper when you have changed, won't you?"

They were not a demonstrative family; in fact, any lavishly expressed
sympathy or affection would have embarrassed them; but they understood
each other, and most of them possessed in a marked degree the power of
expressing both feelings without a word being spoken.

Dan understood Kitty, but it was too soon to be consoled yet. "No," he
said bitterly, "I have had supper enough, thank you," and hurried away
very fast.

It really did seem as if Kitty was not to reach the Supper-table that
night. Telling Tony to go in and begin his meal, she flew off with the
basket, and, heedless of anything but Dan's request, was just about to
fling it away--fish, basket, and all--when she paused. It was a very
good basket, and Dan had no other. Kitty hesitated, then opened it and
looked in. Six fine trout lay at the bottom on a bed of bracken and wet
moss, evidently placed so that they could look their best.
The sight of Dan's little arrangements brought the tears to her eyes.