he side
roads leading to the hills back of the town. Randy was a scholar in the
local school, standing close to the head of his class. It was now
summer time and the institution of learning was closed, so the boy had
most of his time to himself.

He had wanted to go to work, to help his father, who had some heavy
doctors' bills to pay, but his parents had told him to take at least
two weeks' vacation before looking for employment.

"He needs it," Mrs. Thompson had said to her husband. "He has applied
himself very closely to his studies ever since last fall."

"Well, let him take the vacation and welcome," answered Louis Thompson.
"I know when I was a boy I loved a vacation." He was a kind-hearted man
and thought a good deal of his offspring and also of his wife, who was
devoted to him.

The cottage stood back in the center of a well-kept garden, where Mrs.
Thompson had spent much time over her flowers, of which she was
passionately fond. It was a two-story affair, containing but five
rooms, yet it was large enough for the family, and Randy, who had never
known anything better, considered it a very good home. There was a
small white fence in front, with a gate, and the path to the front
stoop was lined with geraniums. Over the porch was trained a
honeysuckle which filled the air with its delicate fragrance.

"Mother, I'm going fishing with Jack Bartlett!" cried Randy, running
around to the kitchen, where his mother was busy finishing up the
week's ironing.

"Very well, Randy," she answered, setting down her flatiron and giving
him a smile. "I suppose you won't be back until supper time."

"It's not likely. Can I do anything for you before I go?"

"You might get a bucket of water and another armful of wood."

"I'll do that," answered Randy, and caught up the water bucket.
"Anything else?"

"No. Take care of yourself while you are on the river."

"Don't worry about me, mother. Remember, I can swim like a fish."

"Yes, I know. But you must be careful anyway," answered Mrs. Thompson,
fondly.

The water and wood were quickly brought into the cottage, Randy
whistling merrily while he performed these chores. Then the youth ran
for his fishing outfit, after which he took the spade, went down to the
end of the garden, and turned up some worms, which he placed in a
pasteboard box.

"Now I am off, mother!" he called out.

"Good-by, Randy," she said, and waved him a pleasant adieu from the
open kitchen window.