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 in our lines and walk along the shore until we get a good place."

"Not at all," said she; "I'll get a comfortable rock and sit there, and let the fish come to me."

She acted on this decision, much to The Parson's amusement.

"Would you like a book?" he derided.

"The brook is my book—this day's sermons in stones,"

"I shall fish up-stream. When you get tired, follow."

"But suppose I get a bite?" she called after him.

"You won't—there. But if you do, haul it in, take off the fish, and rebait."

"But I couldn't—I wouldn't rebait for a thousand dollars."

"Then come along with me and fish," he answered.

Mrs. Crompton rose slowly, wrath in her eye. She was used to the brand of cavalier whose whole thought was for her comfort and pleasure. In fact, comfort and pleas-