HON. B. P. DIVINS
Matt moved his head in the direction of the lower lake. Ben hesitated a moment, his lips working. Then he got in and sat down, muttering profanity, and put the bag on the seat beside him because the bottom of the boat was wet and dirty.
Matt fitted his oars to the rowlocks and shoved off. A gust of wind helped him to get under way. A burst of sunlight was blown across the lake in a sudden glory with the flying clouds. He began to row, beaten from his course by sudden side buffets of wind and bringing the head of the boat back mechanically without looking 'round to see his direction.
"Where 're you going?" Ben demanded.
Matt replied, "Down to Alder Point."
4
They both had boyhood memories of Alder Point, and it may have been these that kept Ben silent and preoccupied for the rest of the way. Or he may have been thinking of what he had to say and how he was to say it. In either case he was so deep in thought that even when Matt had dropped his anchor-stone off Alder Point and shipped his oars and taken up his fishing-pole Ben did not speak. Matt looked up at him a moment from his can of bait and began to crowd his hook with a bunch of wriggling worms. He said, smiling grimly, "Been doin' purty well, Ben?"
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