It was about the middle of July, I believe, that Tish received the following letter:—­

Madam:  Learning that you have decided to take a fishing-trip in Canada, I venture to offer my services as guide, philosopher, and friend.  I know Canada thoroughly; can locate bass, as nearly as it lies in a mortal so to do; can manage a motor launch; am thoroughly at home in a canoe; can shoot, swim, and cook—­the last indifferently well; know the Indian mind and my own—­and will carry water and chop wood.

  I do not drink, and such smoking as I do will, if I am engaged, be
  done in the solitude of the woods.

I am young and of a cheerful disposition.  My object is not money, but only expenses paid and a chance to forget a recent and still poignant grief.  I hope you will see the necessity for such an addition to your party, and allow me to subscribe myself, madam,

  Your most obedient servant,

  J. UPDIKE.

Tish was much impressed; but Hutchins, in whose judgment she began to have the greatest confidence, opposed the idea.

“I wouldn’t think of it,” she said briefly.

“Why?  It’s a frank, straightforward letter.”

“He likes himself too much.  And you should always be suspicious of anything that’s offered too cheap.”

So the Updike application was refused.  I have often wondered since what would have been the result had we accepted it!

The worms were doing well, though Tish found that Hannah neglected them, and was compelled to feed them herself.  On the day before we started, we packed them carefully in ice and moss, and fed them.  That was the day the European war was declared.

“Canada is at war,” Tish telephoned.  “The papers say the whole country is full of spies, blowing up bridges and railroads.”

“We can still go to the seashore,” I said.  “The bead things will do for the missionary box to Africa.”

“Seashore nothing!” Tish retorted.  “We’re going, of course,—­just as we planned.  We’ll keep our eyes open; that’s all.  I’m not for one side or the other, but a spy’s a spy.”

Later that evening she called again to say there were rumors that the Canadian forests were bristling with German wireless outfits.

“I’ve a notion to write J. Updike, Lizzie, and find out whether he knows anything about wireless telegraphy,” she said, “only there’s so little time.  Perhaps I can find a book that gives the code.”

[This is only pertinent as showing Tish’s state of mind.  As a matter of fact, she did not write to Updike at all.]

Well, we started at last, and I must say they let us over the border with a glance; but they asked us whether we had any firearms.  Tish’s trunk contained a shotgun and a revolver; but she had packed over the top her most intimate personal belongings, and they were not disturbed.

“Have you any weapons?” asked the inspector.