," said Old Hundred. "If you toss a fish back in
the water before you're done fishing, you won't get any more bites,
because he'll go tell all the other fish. Bet yer I can swim farther
under the water 'n you can. Come on, it isn't very cold."

I looked hesitantly at the pool.

"Stump yer!" he taunted.

I started for the bank. But just then the trolley wire, which we had
quite forgotten, began to buzz. We paused. Up the pike came the car.
It stopped just short of the bridge, by a cross-road, and an old man
alighted. Then it moved on, shaking more dust down upon the brown
water. The old man regarded us a moment, and instead of turning up the
cross-road, came over to us.

("Know him?" I whispered.)

("Is it Hen Flint, that used to drive the meat wagon with the white
top?" said Old Hundred. "Lord, is it so many years ago!")

"How are you, Mr. Flint?" said I.

"Thot I didn't mistake ye," said the old man, putting out a large,
thin, but powerful hand. "Whar be ye now, Noo York? Come back to look
over the old place, eh? I reckon ye find it some changed. Don't know
it myself, hardly. You look like yer ma; sorter got her peak face."

"Where's the swimming hole now?" asked Old Hundred.

"I don't calc'late thar be any," said the old man. "The gol durn
trolley an' the automobiles spiled the pool here, an' the mill-pond's
no good since they tore down the mill, an' bust the dam. Maybe the
little fellers git their toes wet down back o' Bill Flint's; I see 'em
splashin' round thar hot days. But the old fellers have to wash in the
kitchen, same's in winter."

"But the boys must swim somewhere," said I.

"I presume likely they go to the beaches," said Henry Flint. "I see
'em ridin' off in the trolley."

"Yes," said I, "it must be easy to get anywhere now, with the trolleys
so thick."

"It's too durn easy," he commented. "Thar hain't a place ye can't git
to, though why ye should want to git thar beats me. Mostly puts
high-flown notions in the women-folks' heads, and vegetable gardens on
'em."

He shook hands again, lingeringly. "Yer father wus a fine man," he
said to Old Hundred--"a fine man. I sold yer ma meat before you wus
born."

Then he moved rather feebly away, down the cross-road. Presently a
return trolley approached.

"Curse the trolleys!" exclaimed Old Hundred. "They go everywhere and
carry everybody. They spoil the country roads and ruin the country
houses and villages. Where they go, cheap loafing places