The Fishing of the Free Folk 95 



" All right ! " I reply. " S'pos'n' I fix your big 

 bass and build a fire and cook him ? " 



The big eyes are clouded, and she sighs softly. 

 But in a moment she is again all brightness. She 

 nods merrily and says, " All right ! cook him if you 

 wish." 



Of course I didn't. Had I caught that fish and 

 some big duffer tried to cook it before I got it home 

 and displayed it, he'd have had to whip me first, and 

 the free folk will stand for their rights till their fish 

 poles are worn down too small for clubs. So, instead 

 of the prize fish, two small rockies are scaled, cleaned, 

 and stuck upon a couple of stiff switches. 



" You cook mine. I don't know how to do it like 

 you," she says sweetly, as she busies herself with the 

 basket. Ah ! the craft of it. 



Feed the brute ! A half-dozen prime sandwiches 

 backed by a fairly good rocky will bury jealousy so 

 deep you can't find it with a skewer. There is a 

 bottle of tea, too, sugared just right, and the last swig 

 of it floods the sandwiches, the rocky, and my soul 

 with human kindness. We idle over everything ; 

 the birds sing cheerily ; but at last a sharp splash 

 brings us to alert attention. 



" See the ring he made. Go catch him I'm 

 tired," she says ; and I slip down the bank, for a 

 broadening ripple near a stump suggests that a black- 

 bass has chased a minnow. In such a case worms 

 may, and may not, score, and alas ! I have neither 

 minnow nor minnow-tackle. 



As feared, the worms prove unattractive, but the 

 wisdom of the free folk suggests something else. It 

 is too early for grubs, but a crayfish might do ; so I 



