“And he’s very good at it,” said Mr. Brown to his wife as he and Bunny began to wash.  “He took me to a number of quiet coves, and we got some big fish.  Bunny caught the prize of the day, and it would have got loose from its hook if Tom had not slipped a net under it in time.  Bunny was delighted.”

“I’m glad of that.  But what about this boy?  Are we going to keep him with us?”

“I think so, for a while.  He’ll be useful about the camp, now that I have to be away so much.  And, too, he’s perfectly safe with the children.  He’ll look well after them.  Besides I want to look into this queer story he tells about the hermit Bixby and the needles.”

“Do you think there is anything in it?”

“Well, there may be—­and something queer, too.  I want to find out what it is.  Tom can sleep in that little extra tent we brought.  Now how is supper coming on?  Can I help?”

“No, I think Uncle Tad has done everything but clean the fish, and——­

“Here comes Tom with them now,” said Mrs. Brown.  “And you must be sure to speak of Sue’s pie.”

“I will.  That little girl is getting to be a regular housekeeper.  She’ll soon have your place,” and Mr. Brown shook his finger at his wife.

Tom brought up the cleaned and washed fish.  Mrs. Brown dried them in old towels, dipped them in batter and soon they were frying in the pan.  By this time the cakes and pies were set out, and in a little while supper was ready.

And how good those freshly caught fish tasted!  Bunny declared his was the best, and really it did seem so, for it was a splendid bass.

“And now for my pie,” said Sue, as Mrs. Brown set it on the table.  “I want you all to have some, and a big piece for Tom, ’cause he saved Bunny’s fish.”

Mrs. Brown cut the pie and passed it around.  As she did so she looked carefully at the pie and the pieces.

“Isn’t there enough, Mother?” asked Sue, anxiously.

“Oh, yes.  But I was just thinking——­”

At that moment Bunny, who had taken rather a large bite, cried: 

“What kind of pie did you say this was, Sue?”

“Mince, of course.”

“It tastes more like spiced pickles to me.  Doesn’t it to you, Tom?”

“Oh, I don’t know.  It tastes lots better than the pie we got to the poorhouse.  I can tell you that!”

Mr. Brown, who had tasted his piece, made a funny face.

“Are you sure you put enough sugar in?” he asked Sue.

“You don’t have to put sugar in mince-meat—­it’s already in,” answered his little girl.

Mrs. Brown took a taste of Sue’s pie.  She, too, made a funny face, and then she asked:  “Where did you get the jar of mince-meat, Sue?”

“From the cupboard where you told me, Momsie, next to the glass jar of peaches.”

“On which side of the jar of peaches?”

“Let me see—­it was the side I write my letters with—­my right hand, Mother.”