The Fisbing of tbe Free Folk 93 



ever would think of fishing except with a very long 

 handline. " Now, I'll freshen up your bait real nice, 

 and you'll trot to that clean sandy place, and mebbe 

 you'll catch another big bass. I'm sure there's one 

 right there," I calmly remark. Good as gold and 

 easy as a gudgeon away she goes, and I grin with 

 unholy glee as she drops in her line and stands, rod 

 in hand, like a pocket Patience. 



My bait is barely well sunk before the cork goes 

 under, and in a moment a fair rock-bass is flip- 

 flapping on the bank. She smiles and nods her 

 little head, then fixes her trusting eyes upon her 

 float. In my heart I feel it's a shame to fool her so 

 yet her fish is very large and fine. A couple of 

 rock-bass, followed by a really large " sunny," are 

 added to my score ; then I try farther out, and 

 presently hook a big drum. For a moment he feels 

 like a bass, and I gloat, but the flash of a silvery 

 side tells the truth. Half angrily, I yank him out, 

 twist free the hook, and, according to the code, 

 mash his head and secure the two lucky stones. 

 By the unwritten law of the free folk, she is entitled 

 to one, so I take it to her, mainly because to neg- 

 lect this would entail bad luck. She is delighted, 

 and, with due humility, she brings in her hook 

 and asks me to please look at her bait, because 

 she knows how superior my knowledge is of such 

 matters. I loop a worm afresh and return to my 

 own water. Half-a-dozen tries only raise one small 

 "rocky," so finally the hook is brought to hand, 

 given a turn around the butt, and I am ready for 

 another shift. 



While untying the tethered fish, I hear a sudden 



