92 MEN I HAVE FISHED WITH. 



deer and turkeys, who owned a rifle that became mine 

 some years later; Jim, Martin, Oliver, Mathew and 

 others whose names are forgotten, but all brothers, cou- 

 sins or uncles to each other, and a jolly party they were. 

 Harvest was over, and threshing, corn-husking and such 

 work had not begun; just the time for a fishing trip. An 

 early start and a drive of ten miles behind a good team 

 brought us to the house of another relative for, as before 

 said, the woods were full of Brockways. The team was 

 cared for, and a walk of half an hour brought us to the 

 river. They cut poles and rigged up their lines with float 

 and sinker and with worms for bait. They had said that 

 the river contained pickerel, and I tied on some very small 

 hooks and with a little switch caught several minnows 

 while they were taking a few catfish, sunfish and others. 

 Grins went around, and Martin asked: "Is that the kind 

 o' fishin' you do down in York State?" 



"Yes, sometimes." 



"It 'pears like small kind o' fishin'," said Jim; "don't 

 ye ever ketch bigger fish 'n that when you go a-fishin' 

 'bout Albany?" 



"Yes, sometimes." 



"Mighty small eatin', them things," said another; 

 "guess you've got to get yer specs on to see 'em when 

 they're cooked. I wouldn't take 'em home if you'd gi' 

 me a cartload. Here, take my pole an' fish for fish that's 

 worth having." 



By this time there were half a dozen live minnows in 

 the little water-hole scooped in the bank, and, reaching 

 for my pole, I bent on about twenty feet of line a fair-sized 

 hook with a gimp snell another new thing to the boys 

 and hooking a minnow through the lips I cast and skit- 

 tered it, a trick learned from Old Port Tyler on the Pop- 

 skinny in the spring before. All except William, the old- 



