And a cobweb tackle."

"Cobweb tackle, eh, Charlotte? Yes, certainly; for a hand that can
manage it. Lancie Crossthwaite will land you a trout, three pounds
weight, with a line that wouldn't lift a dead weight of one pound from
the floor to the table. I'll uphold he will. Eh? What?"

"I'll do it myself, some day; see if I don't, father."

"I've no doubt of it, Charlotte; not a bit." Then being in the
entrance-hall, they parted with a smile of confidence, and Charlotte
hastened up-stairs to prepare herself for the evening meal. She gave one
quick glance at her grandmother's picture as she passed it, a glance of
mingled deprecation and annoyance; for there were times when the
complacent serenity of the perfect face, and the perfect propriety of
the white satin gown, gave her a little spasm of indignation.

She dressed rapidly, with a certain deft grace that was part of her
character. And it was a delightful surprise to watch the metamorphosis;
the more so, as it went on with a perfect unconsciousness of its
wonderful beauty. Here a change, and there a change, until the bright
brown hair was loosened from its net of knotted silk, to fall in wavy,
curly masses; and the printed gown was exchanged for one of the finest
muslin, pink and flowing, and pinned together with bows of pale blue
satin. A daring combination, which precisely suited her blonde,
brilliant beauty. Her eyes were shining; her cheeks touched by the sun
till they had the charming tints of a peach on a southern wall. She
looked at herself with a little nod of satisfaction, and then tapped at
the door of the room adjoining her own. It was Miss Sandal's room; and
Miss Sandal, though only sixteen months older than Charlotte, exacted