Then turning to Allie, he started to tell her how glad
he was to see her again, to ask her if she were glad to see him. But
upon looking at her he decided to try and keep her mind from
herself. She was different now and he liked the difference. He
feared he might frighten it away.
"Will you help me get more bait?" he asked.
Allie nodded and got up. Then Neale noticed her feet were bare. Poor
child! She had no shoes and he did not know how to procure any
suitable footwear in that wilderness.
"Have you ever fished for trout?" he asked, as he began to dig under
a rotting log.
"Yes. In California," she replied, with sudden shadowing of her
eyes.
"Let's go down the brook," said Neale, hastily, fearful that he had
been tactless. "There are some fine holes below."
She walked beside him, careful of the sharp stones that showed here
and there. Presently they came to a likely-looking pool.
"If you hook another big one don't try to pull him right out,"
admonished Allie.
Neale could scarcely conceal his delight, and in his effort to
appear natural made a poor showing at this pool, losing two fish and
scaring others so they would not rise.
"Allie, won't you try?" he asked, offering the rod.
"I'd rather look on. You like it so much."
"How do you know that?" he asked, more to hear her talk than from
curiosity.
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