SIMMONS ON THE LOOK-OUT. 67

“Well,” he replies, “if you must know,
I’ve been fishing.”

“Fishing!” I exclaim, aghast. ‘Oh,
Jack!”

“Well, and what if I have?” replies he
with much nonchalance. “I suppose if you
say nothing about it no one will be any the
wiser. So as you ask the same thing of me,
why not ery ‘quits’ and have done with it?”

“Well, if you promise me, of course you
know J sha’n’t tell,’ I say with dignity; “and
now you may as well hop in and let me take
you the rest of the way, only look sharp, for
if we stand talking here we shall both run a
good chance of meeting Father.” Jack takes
my advice and off we go at a sharp trot.

Having dropped him a few yards back, I
turn into the stable and find Simmons on
the look-out for me.

“All right, Miss Madge?” he asks as he
takes Frisk and commences unfastening the
harness.

“Oh, yes, thanks,” I say, “and I’ve got
two beauties of pots. I’d show them to you