he was particularly put out over any matter, happened to be the case.
Just at that moment Mr. Sip looked across to the opposite bank of the creek and discovered that he and the horsefly were not alone. A boy was standing rather further up the stream with a fishing-rod in his hand observing the odd figure this wandering philosopher upon nature cut. The boy appeared to be in the neighborhood of twelve years of age. He had a trim figure and fair hair, and the sunlight on it and through a green branch of a young maple behind him made the brightest spots of color in the somber little chasm. On his young face were mingled expressions of amusement and disgust as to Mr. Sip. Across his arm was a basket. A napkin dangled out of this suggestively.
"Come here, sonny," invited Mr. Sip in an amiable tone, and with a leer of sudden good feeling—for the luncheon basket.
"What did you say?" the boy called back rather timidly, without moving toward his new acquaintance.
"I said, 'Come here,'" repeated Mr. Sip, sharply, drawing his feet out of the water and beckoning. He took a hasty glance up and
