“Let’s go fishing,” he said.

While Mavis hesitated the mother, with an inward chuckle, went within and emerged with the bow and arrow and an old fishing-pole.

“Mebbe you’ll need ’em,” she said dryly.

Mavis turned scarlet and Jason, pretending bewilderment, laughed happily.

“That’s just what we do need,” he said, with no further surprise, no question as to how those old relics of their childhood happened to be there.  His mother’s diplomacy was crude, but he was grateful for it, and he smiled at her understandingly.

So, like two children again, they set off, as long ago, over the spur, down the branch, across the road below the mines, and down into the deep bowl, filled to the brim with bush and tree, and to where the same deep pool lay in deep shadows asleep—­Jason striding ahead and Mavis his obedient shadow once more—­only this time Jason would look back every now and then and smile.  Nor did he drop her pole on the ground and turn ungallantly to his bow and arrow, but unwound the line, baited her hook, cast it, and handed her the pole.  As of yore, he strung his bow, which was a ridiculous plaything in his hands now, and he peered as of yore into every sunlit depth, but he turned every little while to look at the quiet figure on the bank, not squatted with childish abandon, but seated as a maiden should be, with her skirts drawn decorously around her pretty ankles.  And all the while she felt him looking, and her face turned into lovely rose, though her shining eyes never left the pool that mirrored her below.  Only her squeal was the same when, as of yore, she flopped a glistening chub on the bank, and another and another.  Nor did he tell her she was “skeerin’ the big uns” and set her to work like a little slave, but unhooked each fish and put on another worm.  And only was Jason little Jason once more when at last he saw the waving outlines of an unwary bass in the depths below.  Again Mavis saw him crouch, saw again the arrow drawn to his actually paling cheek, heard again the rushing hiss through the air and the burning hiss into the water, and saw a bass leap from the convulsed surface.  Only this time there was no headless arrow left afloat, for, with a boyish yell, Jason dragged his squirming captive in.  This time Jason gathered the twigs and built the fire and helped to clean the fish.  And when all was ready, who should step forth with a loud laugh of triumph from the bushes but the same giant—­Babe Honeycutt!

“I seed you two comin’ down hyeh,” he shouted.  “Hit reminded me o’ ole times.  I been settin’ thar in the bushes an’ the smell o’ them fish might’ nigh drove me crazy.  An’ this time, by the jumpin’ Jehosiphat, I’m a-goin’ to have my share.”

Babe did take his share, and over his pipe grew reminiscent.

“I’m mighty glad you didn’t git me that day, Jason,” he said, with another laugh, “an’ I reckon you air too now that—­”

He stopped in confusion, for Jason had darted him a warning glance.  So confused was he, indeed, that he began to feel suddenly very much in the way, and he rose quickly, and with a knowing look from one to the other melted with a loud laugh into the bushes again.