AMATEUR PHOTO BY MRS- G, 



THE DEACON LANDED A MONSTER EEL. 



It was larger than the common wild duck, 

 and quite different in its markings, the 

 black and white of its neck being espe- 

 cially beautiful. There was some new 

 sight or sound every moment. Earth and 

 air teemed with life. 



"Mother!" screamed Molly Cotton, "if 

 you won't catch those fish let some one 

 sit there who will." I was not demented 

 with the mania of killing things that day. 

 As I arose the Deacon slid into my place 

 and I heard him whisper to Molly Cotton, 

 "Now see me haul in that big bass that's 

 been fooling around for an hour, and 

 make Mother green with envy." Whereat 

 I climbed the bank and with flying fingers 

 set up my beloved camera and focussed it 

 on the Deacon. Then I moved off, slyly 

 reeling out a trail of hose behind me, and 

 called back carelessly, "I am going for a 

 walk. Remember to stop this side Recre- 

 ation's limit." 



I hid behind a tree and waited, 5 min- 

 utes, 10, 12. The Deacon's cork went 

 under and the pole dipped; he braced 

 his foot, his form grew rigid, and the bat- 

 tle began. Came to my ears Molly Cot- 

 ton's strident half whisper, "Is it a bass?" 

 And the Deacon's reply, "Must be; it pulls 

 like a stage horse!" 



1^ fingered the bulb and my heart beat 

 until it hurt. Would I get it; was the hose 

 free; would the fish come up iust off the 

 plate; or, worse still, would the Deacon 

 get up and move out of focus? The 



Deacon, with taut line, pulled and pulled. 

 Would it never come? Just then it came. 

 I crushed the bulb with both hands, in- 

 voluntarily, and the Deacon landed a mon- 

 ster eel! I dropped the bulb, sat on the 

 bank, and laughed until I was red with 

 exertion instead of "green with envy." 

 The next day when I brought the picture 

 out on platinotype, I showed it to the 

 Deacon and asked if I should label it, 

 "Mother turns green with envy," or "Why 

 the Deacon's bass pulled like a stage 

 b >rse." His face was a study for a second, 

 and then he burst out: 



"How did you get that? Now every- 

 body will believe any story you want to 

 tell!" 



The sun shone and the fish bit; the birds 

 sang on and dusk came, when it was only 

 time for noon. Molly Cotton collected 

 the roots she coveted; the Deacon had 

 a long- string of fish; I had 3 pictures 

 with which T am satisfied, and the memory 

 to carry with me while mind shall last of 

 a perfect day. 



As he closed the gate to leave the woods 

 the Deacon called, "Could you get a 

 snake?" T could not. It was too late for 

 snaps, and the snake with lifted head and 

 darting tongue was not a subject for time. 



"Shall T kill it?" called the Deacon, and 

 I answered, 



"No; everything has a right to live to- 

 day. Let it alone." 



