ach
hand, twitching them uselessly from time to time, and clucking like a
hen to urge on his horse when the sand grew unusually deep and
discouraging.

Ignoring his companion, or dreading perhaps to let loose the floods of
his garrulity by making any gap in the dam of silence, Flint sat idly
inspecting his fishing-tackle, shutting it up, then drawing it out,
and finally topping it with the last, light, slender tip, quivering
like the outmost delicate twig of an aspen as he shook it over the
side of the carryall. In fancy, he saw it bending beneath the weight
of a black bass such as haunted the translucent depths of a
freshwater pond a mile or two away. In fancy, he could feel the
twitch at the end of the line, then the run, then the steady pull,
growing weaker and weaker as the strength of the fish was exhausted.
Suddenly into the idler's lotus-eating Paradise came a rushing sound.
A sharp swerve of the horse was followed by an exasperating crackle,
and, lo! the beloved fishing-rod was broken,--yes, broken, and that
delicate, quivering, responsive, tapering end lay trailing in the dust
which whirled in eddies around a flying vehicle.

Flint saw flashing past him a racing sulky drawn by a half-tamed colt,
and driven by a girl--if indeed it was a girl and not, as he was at
first inclined to think, a boy in petticoats.

The young woman took the situation jauntily. She reined in the colt,
adjusted her jockey-cap, and pulled her dog-skin gauntlets further
over her sleeves.

"I beg your pardon," she called out as Flint's wagon overtook her.
"I'm awfully sorry to have broken your rod; but I saw that we had room
to pass, and I didn't see the pole hanging out. It never occurred to
me," she added with a dimpling smile, "that any one would be fishing
on the Nepaug road."

Flint had labored hard to subdue the outburst of profanity which was
the first impulse of the natural man, and had almost achieved a
passing civility, but the smile and the jest put his good resolutions
to flight. The milk of human kindness curdled within him.

"You could hardly," he answered, raising his hat, "have been more
surprised than I was to see a horse-race."

A trace of resentment lingered in his tone. The mirth died out of the
girl's eyes. She returned his bow quietly, leaned forward and touched
the colt with the tassel of her whip. The creature reared and plunged.

"Great Heavens!" exclaimed Flint, preparing to jump out and go to her
assist