"Easy money," laughed Henrietta. "Come on, girls. Let's see who'll get the two dollars."
In another moment all five were hurling themselves recklessly about the sunny clearing, wherever a grasshopper jumped. To an unenlightened observer, it must have seemed as if they, too, were doing an Indian war-dance; certainly they alarmed the grasshoppers.
"Oh," gasped Bettie, after five minutes of this strenuous exercise, "I can't try any longer—my poor old legs are all gone."
So tired Bettie nestled comfortably against Mr. Black, who, with his broad back against a stump, was resting as peacefully as the thought of that big, uncaught trout would permit. But the other four still chased grasshoppers.
Suddenly, a big, bewildered insect hopped right into Bettie's lap; and, in a moment, Bettie's quick, slender fingers had closed over as fine a grasshopper as fisherman would wish to see.
"I've got him—I've got him!" she shrieked. "He's right in my hand."
Mr. Black placed the captive in his pocket match-safe. Then gravely extracting a two-dollar bill from his trousers pocket, he dropped it in Bettie's lap.
"Oh, no," breathed Bettie. "Not when you're so good to me—I'd catch a million grasshoppers for you for nothing, if I only could."
"If you don't keep it," declared Mr. Black, closing her fingers over the bill, "I'll let that precious insect fly away."