The Blackfish 109 



Long Island, N. Y., and while sitting on 

 the lawn one evening a country boy came 

 along with a basketful of the plumpest 

 blackfish I had ever seen. My friends, ob- 

 serving my delight over the fish, asked me 

 if I would like to catch some. Of course 

 I said I would be delighted to do so, and 

 five minutes later we were all planning 

 an early trip for the next morning. Fish- 

 ing stories, where the reader is not made 

 acquainted with the fishing locality, are 

 generally unsatisfying, so I shall not keep 

 the place of our day's sport a secret. 



We drove from Oyster Bay station to 

 a beach on the Sound locally known as 

 "Aunt Sally's Point." If you think you 

 would like a little of the play I shall here 

 describe, you have only to take a train to 

 Oyster Bay or any neighboring village, 

 and then inquire for the Point. Every- 

 body for a dozen miles about knows "Old 

 Aunt Sally," an aged female living in a 

 tiny cottage of rough slabs on the high 

 ground of a point of rock and sand on the 



