t see why any one should like the
woods,--calls camping out the lunatic's diversion. It's rather awkward
for a man with my habits to have his wife take such a view. But it can
be changed by training. I intend to educate her and convert her. I shall
make an angler of her yet."

And so he did.

The new education was begun in the Adirondacks, and the first lesson was
given at Paul Smith's. It was a complete failure.

Beekman persuaded her to come out with him for a day on Meacham River,
and promised to convince her of the charm of angling. She wore a new
gown, fawn-colour and violet, with a picture-hat, very taking. But the
Meacham River trout was shy that day; not even Beekman could induce him
to rise to the fly. What the trout lacked in confidence the mosquitoes
more than made up. Mrs. De Peyster came home much sunburned, and
expressed a highly unfavourable opinion of fishing as an amusement and
of Meacham River as a resort.

"The nice people don't come to the Adirondacks to fish," said she; "they
come to talk about the fishing twenty years ago. Besides, what do you
want to catch that trout for? If you do, the other men will say you
bought it, and the hotel will have to put in a new one for the rest of
the season."

The following year Beekman tried Moosehead Lake. Here he found an
atmosphere more favourable to his plan of education. There were a good
many people who really fished, and short expeditions in the woods were
quite fashionable. Cornelia had a camping-costume of the most approved
style made by Dewlap on Fifth Avenue,--pearl-gray with linings of
rose-silk,--and consented to go with her husband on a trip up Moose
River. They pitched their tent the first evening at the mouth of Misery
Stream, and a storm came on. The rain sifted through the canvas in a
fine spray, and Mrs. De Peyster sat up all night in a waterproof cloak,
holding an umbrella. The next day they were back at the hotel in time
for lunch.

"It was horrid," she told her most intimate friend, "perfectly horrid.
The idea of sleeping in a shower-bath, and eating your breakfast from a
tin plate, just for sake of catching a few silly fish! Why not send your
guides out to get them for you?"

But, in spite of this profession of obstinate heresy, Beekman observed
with secret joy that there were signs, before the end of the
season, that Cornelia was drifting a little, a very little but still
perceptibly, in the direction of a change of heart. She bega