Miles pushed the rowboat off and sprang in, and soon they were gliding up toward the near end of the pond, where the water came in from the stream. The locks grated as the oars dipped and swung, but Miles was skillful. He rowed without a single splash. The dripping from the blades, as they lifted, sent rows of overlapping circles spreading silently behind them. It was very peaceful. “They’ll take me home today,” thought Winnie. She was somehow certain of this, and began to feel quite cheerful. She had been kidnapped, but nothing bad had happened, and now it was almost over. Now, remembering the visits of the night before, she smiled—and found that she loved them, this most peculiar family. They were her friends, after all. And hers alone.

“How’d you sleep?” Miles asked her.

“All right,” she said.

“That’s good. I’m glad. Ever been fishing before?”

“No,” she told him.

“You’ll like it. It’s fun.” And he smiled at her.

The mist was lifting now, as the sun poked up above the trees, and the water sparkled. Miles guided the rowboat near a spot where lily pads lay like upturned palms on the surface. “We’ll let her drift some here,” he said. “There’ll be trout down in those weeds and stems. Here—give me the poles and I’ll bait the hooks for us.”

Winnie sat watching him as he worked. His face was like Jesse’s, and yet not like. It was thinner, without Jesse’s rounded cheeks, and paler, and his hair was almost straight, clipped neatly below the ears. His hands were different, too, the fingers thicker, the skin scrubbed-looking, but black at the knuckles and under the nails. Winnie remembered then that he worked sometimes as a blacksmith, and indeed his shoulders, under his threadbare shirt, were broad and muscled. He looked solid, like an oar, whereas Jesse—well, she decided, Jesse was like water: thin, and quick.

Miles seemed to sense that she was watching him. He looked up from the bait jar and his eyes, returning her gaze, were soft. “Remember I told you I had two children?” he asked. “Well, one of ’em was a girl. I took her fishing, too.” His face clouded then, and he shook his head. “Her name was Anna. Lord, how sweet she was, that child! It’s queer to think she’d be close to eighty now, if she’s even still alive. And my son—he’d be eighty-two.”

Winnie looked at his young, strong face, and after a moment she said, “Why didn’t you take them to the spring and give them some of the special water?”

“Well, of course, we didn’t realize about the spring while we was still on the farm,” said Miles. “Afterwards, I thought about going to find them. I wanted to, heaven knows. But, Winnie, how’d it have been if I had? My wife was nearly forty by then. And the children—well, what was the use? They’d have been near growed theirselves. They’d have had a pa close to the same age they was. No, it’d all have been so mixed up and peculiar, it just wouldn’t have worked. Then Pa, he was dead-set against it, anyway. The fewer people know about the spring, he says, the fewer there are to tell about it. Here—here’s your pole. Just ease the hook down in the water. You’ll know when you get a bite.”