"Where is Isaac?" asked Alfred, as he lightly swung the canoe over his
shoulder.

"He took his rifle and went up to the chestnut grove an hour or more ago."
A few minutes' walk down the willow skirted path and they reached the creek.

Here it was a narrow stream, hardly fifty feet wide, shallow, and full of
stones over which the clear brown water rushed noisily.

"Is it not rather risky going down there?" asked Alfred as he noticed the
swift current and the numerous boulders poking treacherous heads just above

the water.
"Of course. That is the great pleasure in canoeing," said Betty, calmly. "If

you would rather walk--"
"No, I'll go if I drown. I was thinking of you."

"It is safe enough if you can handle a paddle," said Betty, with a smile at
his hesitation. "And, of course, if your partner in the canoe sits trim."

"Perhaps you had better allow me to use the paddle. Where did you learn to
steer a canoe?"

"I believe you are actually afraid. Why, I was born on the Potomac, and have
used a paddle since I was old enough to lift one. Come, place the canoe in

here and we will keep to the near shore until we reach the bend. There is a
little fall just below this and I love to shoot it."

He steadied the canoe with one hand while he held out the other to help her,
but she stepped nimbly aboard without his assistance.

"Wait a moment while I catch some crickets and grasshoppers."
"Gracious! What a fisherman. Don't you know we have had frost?"

"That's so," said Alfred, abashed by her simple remark.
"But you might find some crickets under those logs," said Betty. She laughed

merrily at the awkwardspectacle made by Alfred crawling over the ground,
improvising a sort of trap out of his hat, and pouncing down on a poor little

insect.
"Now, get in carefully, and give the canoe a push. There, we are off," she

said, taking up the paddle.
The little bark glided slowly down stream at first hugging the bank as though

reluctant to trust itself to the deeper water, and then gathering headway as a
few gentle strokes of the paddle swerved it into the current. Betty knelt on

one knee and skillfully plied the paddle, using the Indian stroke in which the
paddle was not removed from the water.

"This is great!" exclaimed Alfred, as he leaned back in the bow facing her.
"There is nothing more to be desired. This beautiful clear stream, the air so

fresh, the gold lined banks, the autumn leaves, a guide who--"
"Look," said Betty. "There is the fall over which we must pass."

He looked ahead and saw that they were swiftly approaching two huge stones
that reared themselves high out of the water. They were only a few yards apart

and surrounded by smaller rocks, about high the water rushed white with foam.
"Please do not move!" cried Betty, her eyes shining bright with excitement.

Indeed, the situation was too novel for Alfred to do anything but feel a keen
enjoyment. He had made up his mind that he was sure to get a ducking, but, as

he watched Betty's easy, yet vigorous sweeps with the paddle, and her smiling,
yet resolute lips, he felt reassured. He could see that the fall was not a

great one, only a few feet, but one of those glancing sheets of water like a
mill race, and he well knew that if they struck a stone disaster would be

theirs. Twenty feet above the white-capped wave which marked the fall, Betty
gave a strong forward pull on the paddle, a deep stroke which momentarily

retarded their progress even in that swift current, and then, a short backward
stroke, far under the stern of the canoe, and the little vessel turned

straight, almost in the middle of the course between the two rocks. As she
raised her paddle into the canoe and smiled at the fascinated young man, the

bow dipped, and with that peculiardownwardmovement, that swift, exhilarating
rush so dearly loved by canoeists, they shot down the smooth incline of water,

were lost for a moment in a white cloud of mist, and in another they coated
into a placid pool.

"Was not that delightful?" she asked, with just a little conscious pride
glowing in her dark eyes.

"Miss Zane, it was more than that. I apologize for my suspicions. You have
admirable skill. I only wish that on my voyage down the River of Life I could

have such a sure eye and hand to guide me through the dangerous reefs and
rapids."

"You are poetical," said Betty, who laughed, and at the same time blushed
slightly. "But you are right about the guide. Jonathan says 'always get a good

guide,' and as guiding is his work he ought to know. But this has nothing in
common with fishing, and here is my favorite place under the old sycamore."

With a long sweep of the paddle she ran the canoe alongside a stone beneath a
great tree which spread its long branches over the creek and shaded the pool.

It was a grand old tree and must have guarded that sylvan spot for centuries.
The gnarled and knotted trunk was scarred and seamed with the ravages of time.

The upper part was dead. Long limbs extended skyward, gaunt and bare, like the
masts of a storm beatenvessel. The lower branches were white and shining,

relieved here and there by brown patches of bark which curled up like old
parchment as they shelled away from the inner bark. The ground beneath the

tree was carpeted with a velvety moss with little plots of grass and clusters
of maiden-hair fern growing on it. From under an overhanging rock on the bank

a spring of crystal water bubbled forth.
Alfred rigged up the rods, and baiting a hook directed Betty to throw her line

well out into the current and let it float down into the eddy. She complied,
and hardly had the line reached the circle of the eddy, where bits of white

foam floated round and round, when there was a slight splash, a scream from
Betty and she was standing up in the canoe holdingtightly to her rod.

"Be careful!" exclaimed Alfred. "Sit down. You will have the canoe upset in a
moment. Hold your rod steady and keep the line taut. That's right. Now lead

him round toward me. There," and grasping the line he lifted a fine rock bass
over the side of the canoe.

"Oh! I always get so intensely excited," breathlessly cried Betty. "I can't
help it. Jonathan always declares he will never take me fishing again. Let me

see the fish. It's a goggle-eye. Isn't he pretty? Look how funny he bats his
eyes," and she laughed gleefully as she gingerly picked up the fish by the

tail and dropped him into the water. "Now, Mr. Goggle-eye, if you are wise, in
future you will beware of tempting looking bugs."

For an hour they had splendid sport. The pool teemed with sunfish. The bait
would scarcely touch the water when the little orange colored fellows would

rush for it. Now and then a black bass darted wickedly through the school of
sunfish and stole the morsel from them. Or a sharp-nosed fiery-eyed

pickerel--vulture of the water--rising to the surface, and, supreme in his
indifference to man or fish, would swim lazily round until he had discovered

the cause of all this commotion among the smaller fishes, and then, opening
wide his jaws would take the bait with one voracious snap.

Presently something took hold of Betty's line and moved out toward the middle
of the pool. She struck and the next instant her rod was bent double and the

tip under water.
"Pull your rod up!" shouted Alfred. "Here, hand it to me."

But it was too late. A surge right and left, a vicious tug, and Betty's line
floated on the surface of the water.

"Now, isn't that too bad? He has broken my line. Goodness, I never before felt
such a strong fish. What shall I do?"

"You should be thankful you were not pulled in. I have been in a state of fear
ever since we commenced fishing. You move round in this canoe as though it

were a raft. Let me paddle out to that little ripple and try once there; then
we will stop. I know you are tired."

Near the center of the pool a half submerged rock checked the current and
caused a little ripple of the water. Several times Alfred had seen the dark

shadow of a large fish followed by a swirl of the water, and the frantic
leaping of little bright-sided minnows in all directions. As his hook, baited

with a lively shiner, floated over the spot, a long, yellow object shot from
out that shaded lair. There was a splash, not unlike that made by the sharp

edge of a paddle impelled by a short, powerful stroke, the minnow disappeared,
and the broad tail of the fish flapped on the water. The instant Alfred

struck, the water boiled and the big fish leaped clear into the air, shaking
himself convulsively to get rid of the hook. He made mad rushes up and down

the pool, under the canoe, into the swift current and against the rocks, but
all to no avail. Steadily Alfred increased the strain on the line and

gradually it began to tell, for the plunges of the fish became shorter and
less frequent. Once again, in a last magnificent effort, he leaped straight

into the air, and failing to get loose, gave up the struggle and was drawn
gasping and exhausted to the side of the canoe.

"Are you afraid to touch him?" asked Alfred.
"Indeed I am not," answered Betty.