e was
something not unlike Stella about her, though she was softer, more whole
souledly genial and pliable to his moods.

He saw her one day, when he went for his boat, standing out in the yard,
and she came down to the waterside to greet him.

"Well," he said, smiling at her fresh morning appearance, and addressing
her with that easy familiarity with which he knew how to take youth and
life generally, "we're looking as bright as a butterfly. I don't suppose
we butterflies have to work very hard, do we?"

"Oh, don't we," replied Frieda. "That's all you know."

"Well, I don't know, that's true, but perhaps one of these butterflies
will tell me. Now you, for instance."

Frieda smiled. She scarcely knew how to take him, but she thought he was
delightful. She hadn't the faintest conception either of the depth and
subtlety of his nature or of the genial, kindly inconstancy of it. She
only saw him as a handsome, smiling man, not at all too old, witty,
good-natured, here by the bright green waters of this lake, pulling out
his boat. He looked so cheerful to her, so care free. She had him
indissolubly mixed in her impressions with the freshness of the ground,
the newness of the grass, the brightness of the sky, the chirping of the
birds and even the little scintillating ripples on the water.

"Butterflies never work, that I know," he said, refusing to take her
seriously. "They just dance around in the sunlight and have a good time.
Did you ever talk to a butterfly about that?"

Frieda merely smiled at him.

He pushed his boat into the water, holding it lightly by a rope, got
down a pair of oars from a rack and stepped into it. Then he stood there
looking at her.

"Have you lived in Alexandria long?" he asked.

"About eight years now."

"Do you like it?"

"Sometimes, not always. I wish we lived in Chicago. O-oh!" she sniffed,
turning up her pretty nose, "isn't that lovely!" She was smelling some
odor of flowers blown from a garden.

"Yes, I get it too. Geraniums, isn't it? They're blooming here, I see. A
day like this sets me crazy." He sat down in his boat and put his oars
in place.

"Well, I have to go and try my luck for whales. Wouldn't you like to go
fishing?"

"I would, all right," said Frieda, "only aunt wouldn't let me, I think.
I'd just love to go. It's lots of fun, catching fish."

"Yes, _catching_ fish," laughed Eugene. "Well, I'll bring you a nice
little shark--one that bites. Would you like that