“Dear me!” she said. “And it is after twelve already. I am perfectly sure I can't find the way back in time for luncheon.”
“I shall be glad to go with you and show you the way.”
“No, indeed! Don and I will get home safely. This isn't the first time we have been lost together, though not on Cape Cod. Of course I shouldn't think of taking you from your fishing. Have you had good luck?”
“Pretty fair. Some bass and two good-sized pickerel.”
“Really! Bass? I didn't know there were any about here. May I see them?”
“Certainly. They are over there in the bushes.”
She swung lightly down from the saddle and, taking her horse by the bridle, led him toward the spot where my catch lay, covered with leaves and wet grass. I removed the covering and she bent over the fish.
“Oh, splendid!” she exclaimed, with enthusiasm. “That big one must be a three-pounder. I envy you. Bass fishing is great sport. Did you get these on a fly—the bass, I mean?”
“No. I use a fly in the spring and fall, but seldom in June or July, here. Those were taken with live bait-shrimp. The pickerel with minnows. Are you fond of fishing, Miss Colton?”
“Yes, indeed. Whoa, Don! steady! Yes, I fish a good deal in September, when we are at our lodge in the Adirondacks. Trout there, principally. But I have caught bass in Maine. I thought I must give it up this year. I did not know there were fish, in fresh water, on the Cape.”