"Perhaps so," she said.
"Well, we will not get solemn over fate," said Jo, cheerily; then, in a lower voice, as he glanced at Cyn, he added—"yet."
"And do not frighten away what few fish there are here, with your theories," commanded Clem.
Although this mandate was obeyed, and for a time silence reigned, it was not long before they were all singing a gay song, started by Clem himself, even Quimby joining in the chorus with a feeble tenor. But they were tired of fishing by that time, and began to feel as if a little refreshment would not be out of place, and would indeed enhance the loveliness of Nature, so a fire was made, and lunch-baskets unpacked.
"It will take a good many of those fish for a mouthful," declared Clem, who was cook.
"You may have my share, I can't eat creatures I have seen squirm," said Nattie.
"Ah, you fastidious young woman! what shall I ever do with you, if you are cast away on a desert island with me?" exclaimed Clem, in mock despair.
"Set up a telegraph wire, and then she would need nothing more," insinuated Cyn.
"And get snubbed for my pains!" muttered Clem, sotto voce. But Nattie caught the words, and an expression of distress passed over her face.
