“Why, of course,” put in Roy scornfully.  “We’re so attractive all we have to do is to whistle to the little animals to have them squabbling for the best place on the hook.”

“My, isn’t he the sarcastic boy,” grinned Allen.  “That little trick might work with you, Roy, but we’re more modest.”

“Well, have you got any fishing tackle?” queried Roy patiently.

“Sure,” it was Frank’s turn to be sarcastic.  “Don’t you know that’s a part of every dough boy’s outfit—­so he can go fishing for the Huns?”

“Peace, peace, my children,” entreated Betty plaintively.  “Can’t we ever talk about anything without getting into an argument?”

“But this isn’t an argument; it’s a suggestion,” said Allen.  “Though I expect the scorn and ridicule of an unthinking populace.  Perhaps you have heard of the old-fashioned, but sometimes effective, string and bent pin?”

The boys shouted, and Allen bent upon them a pitying glance.

“It is even as I expected,” he said sorrowfully.  “Well, I have done my best—­”

“I say old man,” Roy interrupted suddenly, proving an unexpected ally, “I’m for you.  Of course we won’t get anything, but it will be an adventure.  And gee, some fresh fish would taste good!”

So they went to work, eager as children on a lark.  The girls managed to furnish enough pins for the hooks, and when the available string gave out, the boys made use of stout, withy vines as substitutes.

And, strange as it may seem, they actually were successful.  The little stream proved to be full to overflowing with fish, small to be sure, but still eatable.

“Gee, I never saw anything like it!” cried Roy as he excitedly pulled out one fish after another.  “They seem to be eager to be caught.  And to think that we actually scoffed at the idea.”

“That’s what genius always has to bear,” put in Allen, resignedly, while Betty gave him a side-wise glance from under her long lashes.

“Oh, don’t we hate ourself,” she chided softly, as she handed him more bait.  “You really shouldn’t, Allen—­”

“What!  Hate myself?” he demanded, letting a fish slip back into the water in his preoccupation.  “I’d just as soon—­as long as you don’t!”

Betty laughed happily.  It was so good to be there, unbelievably catching fish, with Allen beside her saying delightful—­and foolish—­things.

Then she thought of the parting that must inevitably come and her bright face clouded.  Allen saw the shadow and leaned toward her anxiously.

“What is it, dear?” he whispered softly.  “Have I done anything?”

“No,” she answered with a little smile, half-whimsical, half-wistful.  “You haven’t done anything.  It’s what you’re going to do that hurts.”

CHAPTER VIII

ENTER SERGEANT MULLINS

“Mollie, you’ve been crying.”

“I have not!” snapped Mollie, turning so the light would not fall on her face.