back her bonnet as he waded through the water towards them and he
saw that she was puffing a clay pipe. She looked at the fisherman
and his tackle with the naive wonder of a child, and then she said
in a commanding undertone.

"Go on, Billy."

"Now, ole Hon, I wish ye'd jes' wait a minute." Hale smiled. He
loved old people, and two kinder faces he had never seen--two
gentler voices he had never heard.

"I reckon you got the only green pyerch up hyeh," said the old
man, chuckling, "but thar's a sight of 'em down thar below my old
mill." Quietly the old woman hit the horse with a stripped branch
of elm and the old gray, with a switch of his tail, started.

"Wait a minute, Hon," he said again, appealingly, "won't ye?" but
calmly she hit the horse again and the old man called back over
his shoulder:

"You come on down to the mill an' I'll show ye whar you can ketch
a mess."

"All right," shouted Hale, holding back his laughter, and on they
went, the old man remonstrating in the kindliest way--the old
woman silently puffing her pipe and making no answer except to
flay gently the rump of the lazy old gray.

Hesitating hardly a moment, Hale unjointed his pole, left his
minnow bucket where it was, mounted his horse and rode up the