LITMIR.BIZ

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it may be time to go home."

      "I am never tired," said Knowlton, springing up; "and I have got a guide that will not let me miss my way."

      "You are fortunate," said the other. "And I will not occupy your time.

       Good afternoon! I shall hope to see more of you."

      With a warm grasp of the young officer's hand, and lifting his hat to Diana, the minister went on his way. Diana looked after him, wondering why he had not shaken hands with her too. It was something she was a little sorry to miss.

      "Who is that?" Knowlton asked.

      "Mr. Masters? He's our minister."

      "What sort of a chap is he? Not like all the rest of them?"

      "How are all the rest of them?" Diana asked.

      "I declare, I don't know!" said Knowlton. "If I was to tell the truth, I should say they puzzle all my wits. See 'em in one place—and hear 'em—and you would say they thought all the business of this world was of no account, nor the pleasure of it either. See 'em anywhere else, and they are just as much of this world as you are—or as I am, I mean. They change as fast as a chameleon. In the light that comes through a church window, now, they'll be blue enough, and make you think blue's the only wear—or black; but once outside, and they like the colour that comes through a glass of wine or anything also that's jolly. One thing or the other they don't mean—that's plain."

      "Which do you think they don't mean?" said Diana.

      "Well, they're two or three hours in church, and the rest of the week outside. I believe what they say the rest of the time."

      "I don't think Mr. Masters is like that."

      "What is he like, then?"

      "I think he means exactly what he says."

      "Exactly," said the young officer, laughing; "but which part of the time, you know?"

      "All times. I think he means just the same thing always."

      "Must see more of him," said Knowlton. "You like him, then, Miss

       Starling?"

      Diana did like him, and it was quite her way to say what she thought; yet she did not say it. She had an undefined, shadowy impression that the hearing would not be grateful to her companion. Her reply was a very inconclusive remark, that she had not seen much of Mr. Masters; and an inquiry where Mr. Knowlton meant to fish next.

      So the brook had them without interruption the rest of the time. They crept up the ravine, under the hemlock branches and oak boughs; picking their way along the rocky banks; catching one or two more trout, and finding an unending supply of things to talk about; while the air grew more delicious as the day dipped towards evening, and the light flashed from the upper tree-tops more clear and sparkling as the rays came more slant; and the brook's running commentary on what was going on, like so many other commentaries, was heard and not heeded; until the shadows deepening in the dell warned them it was time to seek the lower grounds and open fields again. Which they did, much more swiftly than the ascent of the brook had been made; in great spirits on both sides, though with a thought on Diana's part how her mother would receive the fish and the young officer's proposition. Mrs. Starling was standing at the back door of the kitchen as they came up to it.

      "I should think, Diana, you knew enough to remember that we don't take visitors in at this end of the house," was her opening remark.

      "How about fish?" inquired Mr. Knowlton, bringing forward his basket.

      "What are you going to do with 'em?" asked Mrs. Starling, standing in the door as if she meant he should not come in.

      "We are going to eat them—with your leave ma'am, and by your help;—and first we are going to cook them."

      "Who?"

      "Miss Starling and myself. I have promised to show her a thing. May I ask for the loan of a match?"

      "A match!" echoed Mrs. Starling.

      "Or two," added Mr. Knowlton, with an indescribable twinkle in his eye; indescribable because there was nothing contrary to good breeding in it. All the more, Diana felt the sense of fun it expressed, and hastened to change the scene and put an end to the colloquy. She threw down her bonnet and went for a handful of sticks. Mr. Knowlton had got his match by this time. Mrs. Starling stood astonished and scornful.

      "Will this be wood enough?" Diana asked.

      Mr. Knowlton replied by taking the sticks out of her hand, and led the way into the meadow. Diana followed, very quiet and flushed. He had not said a word; yet the manner of that little action had a whole small volume in it. "Nobody else ever cared whether I had sticks in my hands or not," thought Diana; and she flushed more and more. She turned her face away from the bright west, which threw too much illumination on it; and looked down into the brook. The brook's song sounded now unheard.

      It was on the border of the brook that Lieut. Knowlton made his fire. He was in a very jubilant sort of mood. The fire was made, and the fish were washed; and Diana stood by the column of smoke in the meadow and looked on, as still as a mouse. And Mrs. Starling stood in the door of the lean-to and looked on too, from a distance; and if she was still, it was because she had no one near just then to whom it was safe to open her mind. The beauty of the picture was all lost upon her: the shorn meadow, the soft column of ascending smoke coloured in dainty hues from the glowing western sky, the two figures moving about it.

      "Now, Miss Diana," said the young officer. "If we had a little salt, and a dish—I am afraid to go and ask Mrs. Starling for them!"

      Perhaps so was she; but Diana went, and got them without asking. She smiled at the dishing of the trout, it was so cleverly done; then she was requested to sprinkle salt on them herself; and then with a satisfied air, which somehow called up a flush in Diana's cheeks again, Mr. Knowlton marched off to the house with the dish in his hands. Mrs. Starling had given her farm labourers their supper, and was clearing away relics from the board. She made no move of welcome or hospitable invitation; but Diana hastened to remove the traces of disorder, and set clean plates and cups, and bring fresh butter, and bread, and make fresh tea. How very pleasant, and how extremely unpleasant, it was altogether!

      "Mother," she said, when all was ready, "won't you come and taste Mr.

       Knowlton's fish?"

      "I guess I know how fish taste. I haven't eaten the trout of that brook all my life, without."

      "But you don't know my cookery," said Mr. Knowlton; "that's something new."

      "I don't see the sense of doing things in an outlandish way, when you have no need to. Nor I don't see why men should cook, as long as there's women about."

      "What is outlandish?" inquired Mr. Knowlton.

      "What you've been doing, I should say."

      "Come and try my cookery, Mrs. Starling; you will never say anything against men in that capacity again."

      "I never say anything against men anyhow; only against men cooking; and that ain't natural."

      "It comes quite natural to me," said the young officer. "Only taste my trout, Mrs. Starling, and you will be quite reconciled to me again."

      "I ain't quarrelling with nobody—fur's I know," said Mrs. Starling; "but I've had my supper."

      "Well, we haven't had ours," said the young man; and he set himself not only to supply that deficiency in his own case, but to secure that Diana should enjoy and eat hers in spite of all hindrances. He saw that she was wofully annoyed by her mother's manner; it brought out his own more in contrast than perhaps otherwise would have been. He helped her, he coaxed her, he praised the trout, and the tea, and the bread, and the butter; he peppered and salted anew, when he thought it necessary, on her own plate; and he talked and told stories, and laughed and made her laugh, till even Mrs. Starling, moving about in the pantry, moved softly and set down the dishes carefully, that she too might hear. Diana

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