“Why?” asked Peter.
“Well, one of them is a gal and the others isn’t,” replied Matlack, “that’s about the p’int of it.”
During Matlack’s walk back the skies cleared, and when he reached the camp he found Mrs. Archibald seated in her chair near the edge of the lake, a dry board under her feet, and the bishop standing by her, putting bait on her hook, and taking the fish off of it when any happened to be there. Out in the boat sat Mr. Archibald, trusting that some fish might approach the surface in search of insects disabled by the rain. Farther on, at a place by the water’s edge that was clear of bushes and undergrowth, Martin was giving Miss Dearborn a lesson in fly-fishing.
“He’s a mighty good fisherman,” thought Matlack, looking at the young fellow as he brought his rod back from the water with a long graceful sweep, and then, with another sweep and an easy inclination of his body forward, sending the fly far out on the smooth surface of the lake, “although there ain’t no need to tell him so; and I don’t wonder she’d rather stand and watch him than try to do it herself.”
Walking up and down near the edge of the wood were Messrs. Clyde and Raybold.
Phil smiled. “They don’t seem to be happy,” he said to himself. “I guess they’re hankerin’ to take a share in her edication; but if you don’t know nothin’ yourself, you can’t edicate other people.”
Matlack directed his steps towards Mrs. Archibald; but before he reached her he was met by the bishop, who hurried towards him.
“I shall be obliged to surrender my post to you,” he said, “which will be greatly to the lady’s satisfaction, I imagine, for I must appear a poor attendant after you.”
