“Are you hurt, Sam?” said Preston.

“No, sir—­” Sam answered, in a tone as if he felt very wet.

“Well, you’ve cleared the line for me at last,” said Preston.  “All’s well that ends well.  Hollo!—­here’s my hook gone,—­broken off, float and all.  Where’s that basket, Sam?”

“It’s below, sir.”

“Below? where? just fetch it here, will you? This misfortune can be mended.”

Sam moved off, dripping from every inch of him.  “O Preston,” said Daisy, “he’s all wet as he can be—­do let him go right down to that house and dry himself!  We can get the basket.”

“Do him good to move about,” said Preston.  “Nonsense, Daisy!—­a ducking like that won’t do anybody any harm in a summer’s day.”

“I don’t think you’d like it,” said Daisy; “and all his clothes are full of water, and the sun don’t come down here.  Tell him to go and get dry!”

“I will, as soon as I’ve done with him.  Here, Sam—­just bend on this hook for me, while I see how the brook is further up.  I’ve no time to lose,—­and then you can go sun yourself somewhere.”

Preston bounded off; Sam stood with the tackle in hand, silently at work.  Daisy sat still on a stone near by, looking at him.

“Were you hurt, Sam?” she asked tenderly.

“No, Miss Daisy.”  This answer was not discontented but stoical.

“As soon as you have done that, Sam, run down to Mrs. Dipper’s, and maybe she can give you something dry to put on while your clothes can be hung out.”

Silence on Sam’s part.

“Have you almost finished that?”

“Yes, ma’am.”

“Then run off, Sam!  Make haste to Mrs. Dipper’s and get yourself dry—­and don’t come back till you are quite dry, Sam.”

Sam finished his piece of work, flung down the line, and with a grateful “Thank you, Miss Daisy!” set off at a bound.  Daisy watched him running at full speed down the brook till he was out of sight.

“Has he done it?” said Preston returning.  “The rascal hasn’t put any bait on.  However, Daisy, it’s no use coaxing the trout in this place at present—­and I haven’t found any other good spots for some distance up;—­suppose we have our lunch and try again?”

“O yes!” said Daisy.  “The other basket is down by my fishing-place—­it’s just as pleasant there, Preston.”

They went back to the basket, and a very convenient huge rock was found on the edge of the brook, which would serve for table and seats too, it was so large and smooth.  Preston took his place upon it, and Daisy at the other end with the basket began to unpack.

“Napkins?” said Preston—­“you have no right to be so luxurious on a fishing party.”

“Why not?”

“Why because a fisher is a kind of a Spartan animal, while he is about his business.”

“What kind of an animal is that?” said Daisy, looking up from her arrangements.  She had set out a plate of delicate rolls, and another with bread and butter folded in, a napkin; and still she paused with her hand in the basket.