176 THE BROOK BOOK 



first and fully as prompt, nearly lost me my 

 balance, but it steadied my nerve. One thought, 

 one purpose filled my mind — I must get that fish 

 to shore. Then I felt strangely self-conscious, all 

 at once. The trees on shore began to move in 

 a circle of which I was the center. The crack- 

 ling of twigs dispelled the illusion, and I saw my 

 father bearing aloft a flaring pine-knot. He was 

 followed by seven lusty fellows, who crept in 

 Indian file along the edge of the stream. "Behold 

 how great a cloud of witnesses !" was the thought 

 that put strength into my good left arm. I lifted 

 with steady nerve and set teeth. With joy I saw 

 my angry captive flash out of the water. Then 

 came an instant of despair. He was off, the bent 

 pole straightening itself with a spring that snatched 

 it out of my hands. Wait ! He was free, but his 

 freedom came just too late ! The curve on which 

 he rose was complete: he fell forward — right at me ! 



The mathematician may think that those two 

 curves were alike. But they were not. The up 

 curve was a forlorn hope — the down curve was 

 perfect assurance. I knew my fish would never 

 escape me. By all the laws of dramatic unity and 

 poetic justice, he was mine. For in his gaping 

 mouth I read a startling revelation. He was bring- 

 ing back those two hooks 1 



He struck the water in that little basin shut in 

 by the three jutting rocks, and I sat down upon html 

 Calmly, and with dignity, I trust, but without delay. 

 It was the only thing to do. He was in a trap 

 that needed but a lid. I was that lid! 



