22 MEN I HAVE FISHED WITH. 



of stout linen thread and a knitting needle from my 

 mother, we started for the woodshed to arrange some- 

 thing, but just what it was to be was a mystery. First 

 Billy cut off about six feet of thread and fastened it to the 

 middle of the knitting needle by a knot and two half- 

 hitches, two young eyes watching every move. Next he 

 threaded a big worm straight through from one end to 

 the other, ran it the whole length of the thread and fas- 

 tened it so that it would not slip off. This was repeated 

 until the thread was full and was six feet of living worms; 

 then he wound the string around the ringers of his left 

 hand until the upper end was reached, when he cut off the 

 knitting needle, took the coil from his hand and laid it on 

 a piece of fish line, which he doubled over and tied hard 

 and fast, cutting through to the threads and leaving a 

 number of worm-covered loops at each side, and the 

 "bob" was made. The fact that it was a dirty job did not 

 disturb Billy nor me ; in fact, we boys made many of them 

 afterward, and neither dirt nor the possible suffering of 

 the worms were ever given a thought ; and at this ripe age 

 it seems to be no worse than the ordinary baiting of a 

 hook with "our mutual friend," as a late writer called that 

 humble beast which we have termed a "barnyard hackle" 

 and scientists have dignified with the title of Lumbricus 

 terrestris, to signify his ownership or occupancy of the 

 soil. It simply seemed a trifle worse because the labor of 

 impalement and the consequent dirt came all at once. 

 These things are a matter of taste and temperament, 

 nothing more. 



With the boat at anchor in the little creek, just below 

 Hiram Drum's slaughter house, which was about as far up 

 as a boat could go at ordinary times, Billy told me how to 

 proceed. 



"In swifter water we'd had to use sinkers to get the 



