54 OLD BLACK BASS 



played no amazement or excitement as did 

 the others, but fretted impatiently to be on. 



Straight ahead was a place of witchery 

 for the bass. It was the kind of a spot to 

 which their natures cried out a welcome, 

 even as the human soul cries its welcome to 

 spring; though why the bass loved a place 

 like this they could not have told. 



It was an area of forming lily-pads, of 

 incipient green; an acre of bottom unlike 

 the rocky ledges, but coming luscious and 

 rich. It was as yet too early for the full- 

 formed pads and much of the food. But 

 even so they recognized it as a place of inter- 

 est and attraction, though they had never 

 been there before. It was the Voice; the 

 old Paleozoic Voice that first called to the 

 fishes back in the dim age when vertebrates 

 arose. 



In response to this voice the fish live and 

 move and have their being. It is instinct. 

 It is the call of food, of sex, of gregarious- 

 ness, of sociality. Those without it perish, 

 those having it obey. It called now to the 

 feeding-ground. 



The spot was occupied, for the day was 

 perfect for the fisherman. It was morning, 



