Suddenly she
stopped.
"Preston, I wish you to consider my words confidential."
"Perfectly!" said Preston.
"You are honourable"--said Daisy.
"O Daisy, Daisy! you ought to have lived hundreds of years ago! You have
me under command. Come," said he, kissing her grave little face, "are
all these things to go in here? Let me help--and then we will go up
stream."
He helped her with a delicate kind of observance which was not like most
boys of sixteen, and which Daisy fully relished. It met her notions.
Then she went to get her fishing-rod which lay fallen into the water.
"O Preston!" she exclaimed, "there is something on it!--it's
heavy!--it's a fish!"
"It _is_ a fish!" repeated Preston, as a jerk of Daisy's line threw it
out high and dry on the shore--"and what's more, it's a splendid one.
Daisy, you've done it now!"
"And papa will have it for breakfast! Preston, put it in a pail of water
till we come back. There's that tin pail--we don't want it for
anything--won't you? O I have caught one!"
It was done; and Daisy and Preston set off on a charming walk up the
brook; but though they tried the virtue of their bait in various places,
however it was, that trout was the only one caught.
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