me flocks, the gorgeous kingfisher leaves his
little tree. In the water different spots have their special finny
denizens. In one place a broad deep arm of the river--which throws off a
dozen such arms, each as large as London's Thames, without the main
stream appearing a whit less broad--shelters among its weeds exhaustless
tribes of perch and pickerel; in another place a swifter and profounder
current conceals the great sturgeon and lion-like maskinonge; while
among certain shallower, less active corners, the bottom is clothed with
muddy cat fish.

They approached a region of this kind, skimmed along by spirited
athletic strokes, and had arrived at the head of the low-lying
archipelago just described, where they came upon a motionless figure
sitting fishing in a punt, some distance along a broad passage to the
left.

Short blue blouse, little cap and flat-bottomed boat, the appearance of
the figure at that hour made one with the drifting mists and rural
strangeness of the landscape, and Chrysler knew it was Le Brun, and
remarked so to Haviland.

"Without doubt, Bonhomme is part of nature and unmistakable--Hola
Bonhomme!"

"Mo-o-o-o-nseigneur," he sung in reply, without looking up or taking
further notice of them.

Haviland gave a few more vigorous strokes.

"How does it bite, Bonhomme?"

"A little badly, monseigneur; all perch here; one pickerel. Shall we
enter the little channels?"

"I do not wish to enter the little channels: I remain here."

They were soon fishing beside him, Chamilly at one end of the skiff
intent upon his sport. The old man's flat punt was littered with perch.
How early he must have risen! He was small of figure, weathered of face,
simple and impassive of manner.

"Good day," Chrysler opened; "the weather is wettish."

"It is morningy, Monsieur."--

"My son knows you, Monsieur," he said again humbly, after a pause.

As Chrysler could not recall his son, as such, he waited before
replying.

"He saw you at Benoit's."

Still Chrysler paused.

"On Sunday."

"A--ha, now I remember. That fine young man is your son?"

"That fine young man, sir," he assented with perfect faith.

After adjusting a line for Chrysler, he continued.

"Do you not think, monsieur, that my son is fine enough for Josephte
Benoit?"

"Assuredly. Does he like her?"

"They are devoted to each other."

"If she accepts him then, why not? You do not doubt your son?"

"Never, Monsieur! what is different