"If it is so, the right ones don't often come together," said Quimby gloomily.
"We are an exception, then, to the general rule!" simpered Celeste.
Quimby groaned, and then murmured something about the toothache.
"Poor fellow!" said Cyn, in a low voice, to Nattie.
"After all, there is something in fate," Nattie sighed.
"Perhaps so," she said.
"Well, we will not get solemn over fate," said Jo, cheerily; then, in a lower voice, as he glanced at Cyn, he added—"yet."
"And do not frighten away what few fish there are here, with your theories," commanded Clem.
Although this mandate was obeyed, and for a time silence reigned, it was not long before they were all singing a gay song, started by Clem himself, even Quimby joining in the chorus with a feeble tenor. But they were tired of fishing by that time, and began to feel as if a little refreshment would not be out of place, and would indeed enhance the loveliness of Nature, so a fire was made, and lunch-baskets unpacked.
"It will take a good many of those fish for a mouthful," declared Clem, who was cook.