e, I'm thinking," said Knowlton,
shutting up his rod.

"You _had_ not, two minutes ago," said the other. "What do you judge
from? It doesn't do to be so easily discouraged as that."

"Discouraged?" said Knowlton. "Not exactly. Let us see. Four, five,
six--seven--eight. Eight, out of this little one pool, Mr. Masters. Do
you think there are any more?"

"I always get all I can out of a thing," said the minister. And his
very cheery tone, as well as his very quiet manner, seemed to say he
was in the habit of getting a good deal out of everything.

"I don't know about that," answered the young officer in another tone.
"Doesn't always pay. To stay too long at one pool of a brook, for
instance. The brook has other pools, I suppose."

"I suppose it has," said the minister, with a manner which would have
puzzled any but one that knew him, to tell whether he were in jest or
earnest. "I suppose it has. But you may not find them. Or by the time
you do, you may have lost your bait. Or you may be tired of fishing. Or
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 th