“Have you heard from Henry lately?” asked Uncle Jonah.

“A few days ago,” answered Bart, who turned moodily away like a peevish child angered with half sleep, and a pang from the thrust he had received.

“Henry is the most ambitious young man I ever knew,” said the Doctor; “I fear he may never realize his aspirations.”

“Why not?” demanded Bart, with sudden energy.  “What is there that my brother Henry may not hope to win, I would like to know?  He will win it or die in the effort.”

“He will not, if he lives a thousand years,” said Young, annoyed at Bart’s mimicking him.  “It ain’t in him.”

“What ain’t in him, Old Testament?” demanded Bart, with asperity.

“The stuff.  I’ve sounded him; it ain’t there!”

“You’ve sounded him!  Just as you are now sounding this bottomless pond, with a tow string six feet long, having an angle worm at one end, and an old hairy curmudgeonly grub at the other.”

“There, Brother Young,” said Uncle Jonah, “stop before worse comes.”

“Mr. Young,” said Bart, a moment later, with softened voice, making way towards him, “forgive me if you can.  I’ve done with coarse and vulgar speeches like that.  You believe in Henry, and only spoke to annoy me.  I take it all back.  I will even spear you some bass, if Theodore will light up the jack.  Give me the oars, and let me wake up a little, while we go to better ground below.”

For a few moments he handled the polished, slender-tined, long-handled spear with great dexterity and success, and told the story of old Leather Stocking spearing bass from the Pioneers.  He soon ceased, however, and declared he would do no more, and his companions, disgusted with his freaky humor, prepared to return.  Bart, casting down his spear, remained in moody silence until they landed.  Theodore picked up his rifle, the fish were placed in baskets, the tackle stowed away, the boat secured, and the party proceeded homeward.

Bart lived further from the pond than any of the party, and Theodore, who loved him, and was kind to his moods, taking a few of the finest fish, accompanied him home.  As they were about to separate from Uncle Jonah—­the father of Theodore—­he turned to Bart, and said:  “Something has happened, no matter what; don’t be discouraged, you stick to them old books; there’s souls in ’em, and they will carry you out to your place, some time.”

“Thank you, thank you, Uncle Jonah!” said Bart, warmly; “these are the only encouraging words I’ve heard for two years.”

“Theodore,” said Bart, as they walked on, “what an uncomfortable bore I must have been to-night.”

“Oh, I don’t know! we thought that something had happened, perhaps.”

“No, I’m trying to change, and be more civil and quiet, and have been thinking it all over, and don’t feel quite comfortable; and we have both something to do besides run in the woods.  You were very good to come with me, Theodore,” he said, as they parted at the gate.