“Aunt Anne says that it is written large on some debts, ‘Not transferable.’ You have put it very nicely, and still you must let me say once for all, I thank you.”
“And I am forgiven for my boy frolic?”
“I don’t know,” she cried, smiling. “That is not nominated in the bond.”
“Well, we will consider the other obligations settled,” he said, “and leave this for future adjustment. You will give me what the men call a good ‘recommend’ for a new place as bowman? I am rather vain of my poling. How wet you were!”
“Wet! You have no idea. It established new standards of moisture for me. But we got the fish.”
He liked the pronoun of partnership.
“Yes. I wonder if Mr. Lyndsay would let you fish our water. I could promise you a salmon or two. Ellett would like to exchange to-morrow afternoon, and try your lower pool, so that, if Mr. Lyndsay would take the lower half of our fishing and we the upper, we should be agreeably matronized—patronized I should say. Will you be so good as to give your father this note?”
Rose said yes, and he took up the book she had dropped into the hammock.
“Lowell! I like his essays more than his verse, except always the immortal fun of the Biglow Papers. That must surely live. For most of his poetry I care little.”
“Yes, it is graceful, interesting at times, which is not true of some much greater verse; but I do not care for it much,—and that is dreadful, because we all know him well and love him well.”