“Fine!” she cried; “you are surely a fisherman.”
“Oh, I sometimes get a few. What’s your luck?” Fred glanced at the rod she held.
“I don’t like to confess.”
“Why not?”
“You’d know why if you took a peep into my basket.” She opened it as she spoke laughingly and showed—not a fish.
“You certainly haven’t loaded your pony,” said Fred; “but say, I can soon make things look better—if you’ll let me.” He reached up his string.
“Oh, no,” protested the girl, “you shame me. It’s very good of you, but—”
“Now look here,” Fred interrupted her, “you mustn’t say no. It’s my chance to pay up. Please play fair and take them.”
“Pay up, play fair,” echoed Alta. “What do you mean?”
“Don’t you remember that you caught my mare the other day and saved me a long chase?”