188 THE BOY 



sounding "plung!" of the two-ounce sinker far 

 out into the waters, and waits for a bite with what 

 patience a boy can muster. Presently perhaps the 

 expected thrill runs up his angle to his hands and 

 through all his nerves, the tip of the pole nods, 

 then bows low to the flood, and by no "turn of the 

 wrist," but by main strength and by one and the 

 same motion he hooks his victim and tears it from 

 its watery hold. So swiftly has it made its curved 

 flight over his head, unseen but as a dissolving 

 streak, that he knows not till he has rushed to 

 where it is kicking the grass whether his prize is a 

 green-and-golden-barred perch, a gaudy-mottled 

 pumpkin-seed, a silvery shiner or an ugly but 

 toothsome bullpout, gritting his wide jaws when 

 his horns do him no good, though they may yet do 

 his captor a mischief. 



Whatever it may be, he gloats over it as much 

 as any man over his well-fought trout or bass, and 

 straightway runs to cut a forked wand whereon 

 to string it, and takes care that it be long enough 

 to hold many another. If the fish do not bite he 

 sets his pole in a crotched stick and lets it fish for 

 itself while he explores the shore and catches a 

 "mud turcle," "almost" kills a "mush rat" or 

 scares himself with a big water snake. 



Returning to his pole, perhaps he finds the 

 tip under water and tugs out a writhing eel, the 

 wild fun and horror, and the abominable, all- 



