"Mr. Warlow! a fish, a fish!" she cried in a low tone, and he turned his eyes reluctantly to the sadly neglected fishing-tackle, which he had "set" by thrusting the poles into the bank, and which they, in their long and absorbing conversation, had totally forgotten. There he saw the flash of a finny monster in the water, and the fish-pole violently threshing in the air above the pond, and as he drew the glittering perch from the pool, he found that it had become entangled in Miss Estill's fish-line also.
"It is our fish, is it not?—and a good omen," he said, as he secured the prize which fluttered at her feet.
"It is our 'luck,'" she replied gaily; "but we can boast of little skill in angling;" at which they both laughed, low but heartily, at the thought how far into foreign fields they had rambled, leaving their fishing to chance, and in that merry glance was laid the foundation of sympathy, appreciation, and friendship.
When they returned to the grove they were joined by Hugh, Grace, Maud, and Ralph, whose success had been most woefully indifferent. Those discomfited anglers looked with undisguised envy on the great piscatorial prize, and while it was frying on the fire, which Scott and Robbie kindled, they all lent a ready ear to the malicious story which the latter urchin told—"That Cliff had brought a mackerel to the picnic, and it was that same identical fish which they were frying."
When the cloth was spread on the grass, and the great fish, garnished with elder-blooms and wild-roses, was given the place of honor at the feast, Hugh Estill said:—
"Now, Mora, please pass the mackerel."
Only then was the fact made plain that Robbie was a boy, given to telling "fish stories," and could be trusted and relied upon only at the dinner-table.
Ah! it was a gleeful hour at that al fresco meal,—the soft breeze stirring the tree-tops, and the bright sunlight sifting down through the fluttering leaves on the silver and crystal, the frosty cake and quivering jelly, the crimson and gold, and, above all, the happy faces of our young friends.
Dancing and an impromptu concert, followed by charades on a temporary stage, served to pass away a few more blissful hours: then the revelers broke into groups and couples, sauntering into shady nooks, and engaging in those long and confidential chats which are totally devoid of interest to any save themselves.
Miss Estill and young Warlow were seated upon a bank where the mingled sunlight and pale shadows flickered softly over the lush and tender sward, and their conversation steered away from the shoals and quagmires of match-making and matrimony to the vague and mystic fields of metaphysics.