ne mornin', miss, but a
leetle bright for the fish--though I ain't denyin' that a small dark
fly'd raise 'em; no'm. If I was sot on ketchin' a mess o' fish, I guess
a hare's-ear would do the business; yes'm. I jest passed Mr. Langham
down to the forks, and I seed he was a-chuckin' a hare's-ear; an' he riz
'em, too; yes'm."

"How long have you been a keeper here?" she asked.

"How long, 'm? Waal, I was the fustest guard they had; yes'm. I live
down here a piece. They bought my water rights; yes'm. An' they give me
the job. The president he sez to me, 'Peter,' he sez, jest like
that--'Peter, you was raised here; you know all them brooks an' rivers
like a mink; you stay right here an' watch 'em, an' I'll do the squar'
by ye,' he sez, jest like that. An' he done it; yes'm."

"So you knew the president, then?" she asked, in a low voice.

"Knew him?--_him_? Yes'm."

The old man laughed a hollow, toothless laugh, and squinted out across
the dazzling river.

"Knew him twenty year, I did. A good man, and fair at that. Why, I've
seen him a-settin' jest where you're settin' this minute--seen him a
hundred times a-settin' there."

"Fishing?" she said, in an awed voice.

"Sometimes. Sometimes he was a-drinkin' out o' that silver pocket-pistol
o' his'n. He got drunk a lot up here; but he didn't drink alone; no'm.
There wasn't a stingy hair in his head; he--"

"Do you mean the president?" she said, incredulously, almost angrily.

"Him? Yes'm. Him an' Colonel Hyssop an' Major Brent; they had good times
in them days."

"You knew the president _before_ his marriage," she observed, coldly.

"Him? He wasn't never married, miss!" said the old man, scornfully.

"Are you sure?" she asked, with a troubled smile.

"Sure? Yes'm. Why, the last time he was up here, three year come July
Fourth, I seen him a-kissin' an' a-huggin' of old man Dawson's
darter--"

She was on her feet in a flash. The old man stood there smiling his
senile smile and squinting out across the water, absorbed in his
garrulous reminiscence.

"Yes'm; all the folks down to the village was fond o' the president, he
was that jolly and free, an' no stuck-up city airs; no'm; jest free and
easy, an' a-sparkin' the gals with the best o' them--"

The old man laughed and crossed his arms under the barrel of his
shot-gun.

"Folks said he might o' married old man Dawson's darter if he'd lived. I
dun'no'. I guess it was all fun. But I hear the gal took on awful when