s too late,' said I. 'I've arranged
for myself, Joe Clark,--so there.'

"I ran out and left him.

"He's pretty mad, but I don't care any more, now you're goin' to help
me with this grammar.

"You're sure you're not scared of Joe?" she repeated.

"I have a strong right arm," I declared, "and I have been taught to
look after myself."

I went down to the boat with her, and as she was stepping in she caught
me by the shirt sleeve.

"You and Joe aren't goin' to fight, George? Promise me you won't
fight."

"I could not promise that, little girl, for I cannot control the
future. But I promise you that I shall not seek any quarrel with Joe.
But, if he insulted you, for instance, or tried to commit a bodily
violence on me, I would fight him without any hesitation. Wouldn't
that be the right thing to do, Rita?"

Her head nodded wistfully. "Yes! Guess it would," she whispered, as I
pushed her boat out into the water where the darkness swallowed it up.

CHAPTER XX

Fishing!

In the fulfilling of a promise, I called the following evening on Miss
Grant.

It was the first of a number of such visits, for I found that the old
feeling of antagonism between us had entirely disappeared and,
consequently, I enjoyed the sociability refreshingly.

Our meetings, while not by any means of the 'friendly admiration' kind,
were of a nature beneficial to both of us.

She learned that I was an Englishman of good family. I gathered, her
mother had been a Virginian and her father an Englishman; that she
loved the American Continent and always considered the United States
her country as her mother had done before her. But further than this
we did not get, for we were both diffident in talking of our lives
prior to our coming to Golden Crescent. Still, we had many
never-failing topics of conversation, many subjects to discuss in
literature, music, philosophy and economics.

We travelled along in our acquaintance easily,--leisurely,--as if time
were eternal and the world were standing still awaiting our good
pleasure.

Late one afternoon, when I was sitting out on the rocks, near the oil
barns at the end of the wharf, enjoying the cooling breezes after the
trying heat of that midsummer's day, I saw Miss Grant come down the
path with her fishing lines in her hand and her sweater-coat over her
arm. She went to her boat and started to pull it toward the water.

I scrambled over and down the rocks, to lend a hand.

"