“Oh, was that a salmon?” A fish, some three feet long, leaped high in air, dripping silver in the sun, and fell with a mighty swash into the glowing waters.
“Yes; there’s another! As to Dick, he sees everything, and for questions—you are nothing to him. I wanted to talk to you about them, Rose.”
“And Jack?”
“Oh, Jack! Jack will do. He hates books, but he also hates defeat,—a first-rate quality, Rose. He is one of the three people I have seen in my life who honestly enjoy peril. That comes from his Uncle Robert. My poor Robin used to laugh when he rode into the hottest fight!”
Rose, remembering how the major died at Antietam, was silent. Her father was also quiet for a few moments.
“That boy must always be fighting somebody. Just now, he and Ned have a standing difficulty about the Roundheads and Jacobites. I believe it has cost two black eyes already.”
“How funny! What do you do about it?”
“I? Nothing. Ned is like a cat for activity, small as he is, and as to an occasional black eye,—well, I don’t ask too many questions.”
“But doesn’t it distress mother?”
“Yes, yes, of course; but so long as they love one another, I find it wise to say little. By and by, dear, when you are married, and have a lot of boys of your own, you will understand the wisdom of knowing when not to see,—when not to ask questions.”