this time. "You will be the first person she writes to, of
course." As that excusable lie passed his lips, his float began
to tremble. Here was a chance of changing the subject--"I've got
a fish!" he cried.

Kitty was immediately interested. She threw down her own rod, and
assisted her ignorant companion. A wretched little fish appeared
in the air, wriggling. "It's a roach," Kitty pronounced. "It's in
pain," the merciful lawyer added; "give it to me." Kitty took it
off the hook, and obeyed. Mr. Sarrazin with humane gentleness of
handling put it back into the water. "Go, and God bless you,"
said this excellent man, as the roach disappeared joyously with a
flick of its tail. Kitty was scandalized. "That's not sport!" she
said. "Oh, yes, it is," he answered--"sport to the fish."

They went on with their angling. What embarrassing question would
Kitty ask next? Would she want to be told why her father had left
her? No: the last image in the child's mind had been the image of
Sydney Westerfield. She was still thinking of it when she spoke
again.

"I wonder whether you're right about Syd?" she began. "You might
be mistaken, mightn't you? I sometimes fancy mamma and Sydney may
have had a quarrel. Would you mind asking mamma if that's true?"
the affectionate little creature said, anxiously. "You see, I
can't help talking of Syd, I'm so fond of her; and I do miss her
so dreadfully every now and then; and I'm afraid--oh, dear, dear,
I'm afraid I shall never see her again!" She let her rod drop on
the pier, and put her little hands over her face and burst out
crying.