If you will leave a wire hairpin or two on this stone I can get bigger fish. What do you mean to do with all those rabbit skins?
(Signed) P.
Tish was touched by the fish, I think. She smoothed off the sand carefully and wrote a reply:—
Here are the hairpins. Thank you. Do you want the rabbit skins?
L.C.
All day we were in a state of expectancy. The mosquitoes were very bad, and had it not been for the excitement of the P—— person I should have given up and gone home. I wanted mashed potatoes and lima beans with butter dressing, and a cup of hot tea, and muffins, and ice—in fact, I cannot think of anything I did not want, except rabbits and fish and puffballs and such blackberries as the birds did not fancy. Although we were well enough—almost too well—the better I felt the hungrier I got.
Tish thought the time had now come to rest and invite our souls. She set the example that day by going out on a flat rock in the lake and preparing to think all the things she'd been waiting most of her life to consider.
"I am ready to form my own opinions about some things," she said. "I realize now that all my life the newspapers and stupid people and books have formed my opinions. Now I'm going to think along my own lines. Is there another life after this? Do I really desire the suffrage? Why am I a Baptist?"
Aggie said she would like to invite her soul that day also, not to form any opinions,—Tish always does that for her,—but she had to get some clothes in September and she might as well think them out.
So it happened that I was alone when I met the P—— person's young woman.