to a mere trickling
thread among the boulders, and there was a certain "pot-hole" that he
had long known. It was the lurking-place of a phenomenal trout,--an
almost historic fish in the district, which had long resisted the
attempt of such rude sportsmen as miners, or even experts like himself.
Few had seen it, except as a vague, shadowy bulk in the four feet of
depth and gloom in which it hid; only once had Leonidas's quick eye
feasted on its fair proportions. On that memorable occasion Leonidas,
having exhausted every kind of lure of painted fly and living bait,
was rising from his knees behind the bank, when a pink five-cent stamp
dislodged from his pocket fluttered in the air, and descended slowly
upon the still pool. Horrified at his loss, Leonidas leaned over to
recover it, when there was a flash like lightning in the black depths, a
dozen changes of light and shadow on the surface, a little whirling wave
splashing against the side of the rock, and the postage stamp was gone.
More than that--for one instant the trout remained visible, stationary
and expectant! Whether it was the instinct of sport, or whether the fish
had detected a new, subtle, and original flavor in the gum and paper,
Leonidas never knew. Alas! he had not another stamp; he was obliged to
leave the fish, but carried a brilliant idea away with him. Ever since
then he had cherished it--and another extra stamp in his pocket. And
now, with this strong but gossamer-like snell, this new hook, and this
freshly cut hickory rod, he would make the trial!

But fate was against him! He had scarcely descended the narrow trail to
the pine-fringed margin of the stream before his quick ear detected an
unusual rustling through the adjacent underbrush, and then a voice that
startled him! It was HERS! In an instant all thought of sport had fled.
With a beating heart, half opened lips, and uplifted lashes, Leonidas
awaited the coming of his divinity like a timorous virgin at her first
tryst.

But Mrs. Burroughs was clearly not in an equally responsive mood. With
her fair face reddened by the sun, the damp tendrils of her unwound hair
clinging to her forehead, and her smart little slippers red with dust,
there was also a querulous light in her eyes, and a still more querulous
pinch in her nostrils, as she stood panting before him.

"You tiresome boy!" she gasped, holding one little hand to her side as
she gripped her brambled skirt around her ankles with the other.