I remembered Professor Holroyd as a prim, spectacled gentleman, with
close-cut, snowy beard and a clerical allure. The man I saw digging
wore green goggles, a jersey, a battered sou'wester, and hip-boots
of rubber. He was delving in the muck of the salt meadow, his face
streaming with perspiration, his boots and jersey splashed with
unpleasant-looking mud. He glanced up as we approached, shading his
eyes with a sunburnt hand. "Papa, dear," said Miss Holroyd, "here is Jack's friend, whom you
bailed out of Mazas." The introduction was startling. I turned crimson with mortification. The professor was very decent about it; he called me by name at once. When he said this he looked at his spade. It was clear that he
considered me a nuisance and wished to go on with his digging. "I suppose," he said, "you are still writing?" "A little," I replied, trying not to speak sarcastically. My output had
rivaled that of "The Duchess"--in quantity, I mean. "I seldom read--fiction," he said, looking restlessly at the hole in
the ground. Miss Holroyd came to my rescue. "That was a charming story you wrote last," she said. "Papa should read
it--you should, papa; it's all about a fossil." We both looked narrowly at Miss Holroyd. Her smile was guileless. "Fossils!" repeated the professor. "Do you care for fossils?" "Very much," said I. Now I am not perfectly sure what my object was in lying. I looked at
Daisy Holroyd's dark-fringed eyes. They were very grave. "Fossils," said I, "are my hobby." I think Miss Holroyd winced a little at this. I did not care. I went on:

"I have seldom had the opportunity to study the subject, but, as a boy,
I collected flint arrow-heads----"

"Flint arrow-heads!" said the professor coldly. "Yes; they were the nearest things to fossils obtainable," I replied,
marvelling at my own mendacity. The professor looked into the hole. I also looked. I could see nothing
in it. "He's digging for fossils," thought I to myself. "Perhaps," said the professor cautiously, "you might wish to aid me
in a little research--that is to say, if you have an inclination for
fossils." The double-entendre was not lost upon me. "I have read all your books so eagerly," said I, "that to join you,
to be of service to you in any research, however difficult and trying,
would be an honour and a privilege that I never dared to hope for." "That," thought I to myself, "will do its own work." But the professor was still suspicious. How could he help it, when
he remembered Jack's escapades, in which my name was always blended! Doubtless he was satisfied that my influence on Jack was evil. The
contrary was the case, too. "Fossils," he said, worrying the edges of the excavation with his
spade, "fossils are not things to be lightly considered." "No, indeed!" I protested. "Fossils are the most interesting as well as puzzling things in the
world," said he. "They are!" I cried enthusiastically. "But I am not looking for fossils," observed the professor mildly. This was a facer. I looked at Daisy Holroyd. She bit her lip and fixed
her eyes on the sea. Her eyes were wonderful eyes. "Did you think I was digging for fossils in a salt meadow?" queried
the professor. "You can have read very little about the subject. I am
digging for something quite different." I was silent. I knew that my face was a trifle flushed. I longed to
say, "Well, what the devil are you digging for?" but I only stared into
the hole as though hypnotized. "Captain McPeek and Frisby ought to be here," he said, looking first at
Daisy and then across the meadows. I ached to ask him why he had subpoenaed Captain McPeek and Frisby. "They are coming," said Daisy, shading her eyes. "Do you see the speck
on the meadows?" "It may be a mud hen," said the professor. "Miss Holroyd is right," I said. "A wagon and team and two men are
coming from the north. There is a dog beside the wagon--it's that
miserable yellow dog of Frisby's." "Good gracious!" cried the professor, "you don't mean to tell me that
you see all that at such a distance?" "Why not?" I said. "I see nothing," he insisted. "You will see that I'm right, presently," I laughed. The professor removed his blue goggles and rubbed them, glancing
obliquely at me. "Haven't you heard what extraordinary eyesight duck shooters have?" said his daughter, looking back at her father. "Jack says that they can
tell exactly what kind of a duck is flying before most people could see
anything at all in the sky." "It's true," I said; "it comes to anybody, I fancy, who has had
practice." The professor regarded me with a new interest. There was inspiration in
his eyes. He turned toward the ocean. For a long time he stared at the
tossing waves on the beach, then he looked far out to where the horizon
met the sea. "Are there any ducks out there?" he asked at last. "Yes," said I, scanning the sea, "there are." He produced a pair of binoculars from his coat-tail pocket, adjusted
them, and raised them to his eyes. "H'm! What sort of ducks?" I looked more carefully, holding both hands over my forehead. "Surf ducks--scoters and widgeon. There is one bufflehead among
them--no, two; the rest are coots," I replied. "This," cried the professor, "is most astonishing. I have good eyes,
but I can't see a blessed thing without these binoculars!" "It's not extraordinary," said I; "the surf ducks and coots any novice
might recognise; the widgeon and buffleheads I should not have been
able to name unless they had risen from the water. It is easy to tell
any duck when it is flying, even though it looks no bigger than a black
pin-point." But the professor insisted that it was marvellous, and he said that I
might render him invaluable service if I would consent to come and camp
at Pine Inlet for a few weeks. I looked at his daughter, but she turned her back--not exactly in
disdain either. Her back was beautifully moulded. Her gown fitted also. "Camp out here?" I repeated, pretending to be unpleasantly surprised. "I do not think he would care to," said Miss Holroyd without turning. I had not expected that. "Above all things," said I, in a clear, pleasant voice, "I like to camp
out." She said nothing. "It is not exactly camping," said the professor. "Come, you shall see
our conservatory. Daisy, come, dear! you must put on a heavier frock;
it is getting toward sundown." At that moment, over a near dune, two horses' heads appeared, followed
by two human heads, then a wagon, then a yellow dog. I turned triumphantly to the professor. "You are the very man I want," he muttered; "the very man--the very
man." I looked at Daisy Holroyd. She returned my glance with a defiant little
smile. "Waal," said Captain McPeek, driving up, "here we be! Git out, Frisby." Frisby, fat, nervous, and sentimental, hopped out of the cart. "Come!" said the professor, impatiently moving across the dunes. I
walked with Daisy Holroyd. McPeek and Frisby followed. The yellow dog
walked by himself. II.