Indeed, the situation was too novel for Alfred to do anything but feel a keen enjoyment.  He had made up his mind that he was sure to get a ducking, but, as he watched Betty’s easy, yet vigorous sweeps with the paddle, and her smiling, yet resolute lips, he felt reassured.  He could see that the fall was not a great one, only a few feet, but one of those glancing sheets of water like a mill race, and he well knew that if they struck a stone disaster would be theirs.  Twenty feet above the white-capped wave which marked the fall, Betty gave a strong forward pull on the paddle, a deep stroke which momentarily retarded their progress even in that swift current, and then, a short backward stroke, far under the stern of the canoe, and the little vessel turned straight, almost in the middle of the course between the two rocks.  As she raised her paddle into the canoe and smiled at the fascinated young man, the bow dipped, and with that peculiar downward movement, that swift, exhilarating rush so dearly loved by canoeists, they shot down the smooth incline of water, were lost for a moment in a white cloud of mist, and in another they coated into a placid pool.

“Was not that delightful?” she asked, with just a little conscious pride glowing in her dark eyes.

“Miss Zane, it was more than that.  I apologize for my suspicions.  You have admirable skill.  I only wish that on my voyage down the River of Life I could have such a sure eye and hand to guide me through the dangerous reefs and rapids.”

“You are poetical,” said Betty, who laughed, and at the same time blushed slightly.  “But you are right about the guide.  Jonathan says ‘always get a good guide,’ and as guiding is his work he ought to know.  But this has nothing in common with fishing, and here is my favorite place under the old sycamore.”

With a long sweep of the paddle she ran the canoe alongside a stone beneath a great tree which spread its long branches over the creek and shaded the pool.  It was a grand old tree and must have guarded that sylvan spot for centuries.  The gnarled and knotted trunk was scarred and seamed with the ravages of time.  The upper part was dead.  Long limbs extended skyward, gaunt and bare, like the masts of a storm beaten vessel.  The lower branches were white and shining, relieved here and there by brown patches of bark which curled up like old parchment as they shelled away from the inner bark.  The ground beneath the tree was carpeted with a velvety moss with little plots of grass and clusters of maiden-hair fern growing on it.  From under an overhanging rock on the bank a spring of crystal water bubbled forth.

Alfred rigged up the rods, and baiting a hook directed Betty to throw her line well out into the current and let it float down into the eddy.  She complied, and hardly had the line reached the circle of the eddy, where bits of white foam floated round and round, when there was a slight splash, a scream from Betty and she was standing up in the canoe holding tightly to her rod.