but I don't care to have my fingers stepped on," and he
looked at the scarified members of his left hand.

"I beg your pardon. I'm sorry if I hurt you. I didn't mean
to. And of course this is a public place, in a way, and you
have a right here. I was just climbing the tree to--er--to
get a fishing pole!"

Ned had all he could do to keep from laughing. The idea of
getting a fishing pole from a gnarled and stunted pine
struck him as being altogether novel and absurd. Yet it was
not time to make fun of the man. The latter looked too
serious for that.

"Rather a good view to be had from up where you were, eh?"
asked Ned suggestively.

"A good view?" exclaimed the other. "I don't know what you
mean!"

"Oh, then you didn't see anything," Ned went on. "Perhaps
it's just as well. Are you fond of fishing?"

"Very. I have--But I forget, I do not know you nor you
me. Allow me to introduce myself. I am Mr. Walter Simpson,
and I am here on a visit I just happened to walk out this
way, and, seeing a small stream, thought I should like to
fish. I usually carry lines and hooks, and all I needed was
the pole. I was looking for it when I heard you, and--"