“We really didn’t,” confirmed Farmer Landsdowne.
“Well, ye see it now, don’t ye?” pursued the proprietor of the fish-pond. “Kindly move along.”
“We have one fish,” said Nyoda, feeling unutterably foolish, “but we’ll pay you for that. I must have one to take back to the picnic or I don’t dare show my face.”
“Ye say ye caught a fish?” shouted the farmer, excitedly. “Holy mackerel! That was the only one in the pond—I put it in there this morning—and I’ve rented the fishing of it to a young feller from Cleveland at twenty-five cents an hour.”
“But it didn’t take me an hour to catch him,” said Nyoda. “It only took five minutes. That’ll be about two cents.” But the farmer held out for his twenty-five cents and Nyoda paid it, laughing to herself at the way the “feller from Cleveland” had been cheated out of his sport.
“Don’t ever tell the girls about this,” pleaded Nyoda, as they moved shamefacedly away. “I’m supposed to be a pattern of conduct, and I’m always scolding the girls because they don’t use their eyes enough. They’ll never get over laughing at me if they find it out.” Farmer Landsdowne promised solemnly that he would not divulge the secret.
“Did you catch anything?” called Sahwah, as Nyoda returned to the group under the trees.
“We certainly did,” replied Nyoda, with a sidelong glance at Farmer Landsdowne.
“Listen to this part of father’s last letter,” said Gladys, as they sat around on the grass eating their dinner. “Juneau, Alaska.
“We recently saw a group of Camp Fire girls holding a Ceremonial Meeting on a mountain near Juneau. It fairly made us homesick; it reminded us so much of the group we used to see in our house. We went up and spoke to them and they send you this three-petaled flower as a greeting.”