Two young people had been sitting on the verandah while the matrimonial
congress was going on, and were much amused by what they occasionally
heard of the proceedings. Next morning, Marjorie carried off one of this
pair by the name of Jim to look for crawfish and shiners in the creek.
Under her able tuition, Mr. Douglas was making rapid progress in
Canadian slang, and treasured in his memory many choice extracts from
the words of supposed coloured poets, contributed originally by Guff.
The scraps of doleful ballads, taken from the stores of the Pilgrim
brothers, Marjorie objected that he did not seem to take stock in. While
up to the bared elbows in the crawfishery, the twain heard voices, those
of Miss Graves and Mr. Terry, but they kept on turning over stones and
shouting all the same. Marjorie had never had the veteran really
interested in that creek, so she ran to secure him, while her friend
pulled down his sleeves and went to meet the lady. It was a pretty
place, the bank of that creek, an ideal spot for a morning stroll, and
they were soon out of earshot of the fishers.
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