she could do with Alice, once the younger girl had set her mind on anything. And, really, there was no harm in going fishing with Paul. The favorite spot was not far from the farmhouse, and within view of it.
"It's fine of you to come!" said Paul, as he walked along over the meadow with the laughing, brown-eyed girl. "I'm sure we'll have good luck."
"I'm never very lucky at fishing," said Alice. "But I'll watch you."
"No, you've got to fish, too. I'll cut you a light pole."
"And will you bait my hook—I don't like to do that."
"Surely I will."
They walked on, chatting of many things, and as they reached the fishing hole—a deep eddy on the overhanging bank of which they could sit—they saw Russ Dallwood, with his camera, going along the opposite bank.
"What are you doing?" called Paul.
"Oh, just getting some odd scenes here and there of farm work. Mr. Pertell wants to work them into some of the plays. There are some men spraying a potato patch over in the next field, to get rid of the bugs. I'm going to make a scene of that."
"All right. Good luck!" called Alice, pleas-
