94 Sporting Sketches 



splash, and look up to see a wonderful picture. 

 The slim, girlish figure is stiffly braced, her hat is 

 hanging on her shoulders, her face is very red, and 

 she is lifting for dear life. I know the rod, and one 

 glance at its curve tells how big is the righting cap- 

 tive. I hardly can believe my eyes, for, as I look, 

 a great, green thing springs from the water and 

 falls back amid a shower of spray. There is barely 

 time to shout, " Stop ! you goose ! play him ! " 

 before she turns and runs up the bank, dragging 

 rod, line, and fish bodily after her. 



" That's a dickens of a way to play a fish ! " I 

 growl half savagely as I unhook the biggest bass 

 of the year. 



"I I don't care I I gottim any- 

 how ! " she gasps, and I have to laugh in spite of 

 myself. 



But the blood of the free folk is mighty near the 

 boiling point, for nobody ever took a bass in such a 

 spot, and nobody but a chump of a girl would try to. 



" It's the ' lucky ' you gave me," she says softly, 

 "and the lovely place you let me have. Next time 

 you must have the good place." 



Something in her rosy color and shining eyes 

 checks a fierce impulse to chuck her bodily into the 

 river, and the angry pride of the free folk humbles 

 itself. At the next good spot she gets a fair chance, 

 and at this and others small fish are added to the 

 string. At last she seats herself upon a log and 

 remarks : 



" It's too lovely for anything, but we'd best eat. 

 I've got sandwiches and pickles, and, oh ! let's cook 

 a fish do please," she says. 



