WHY THE BIGGEST ONE GOT AWAY. 



GENE S. PORTER. 



'How hast thou escaped mef" 



It may seem peculiar for anyone to fish 

 the Wabash. Once the river was crowded 

 with bass, redhorse, pickerel and suckers. 

 Now a dozen good bass in a season is a 

 large catch, while the pickerel and red- 

 horse are almost extinct, and a good 

 sucker is scarce. Anglers usually land a 



Molly-Cotton goes because she is bub- 

 bling over with the wine of life and the 

 pure joy of living. She likes to patter 

 barefoot over logs and stones, wild flowers 

 in her hands and hair, and as glad a song 

 as any bird's in her heart. She likes to 

 lie on a log and with a tiny line fill the 



AMATEUR PHOTO BY GENE STRATTON PORTER. 



CREEP WITH A CAMERA ON SOLEMN BITTERNS." 



catfish or that most detestable thing, a 

 carp. So if only fish were desired it would 

 not pay to go to the Wabash. But there 

 is the beauty of the river, sung by poet and 

 transferred to canvas by painter, making 

 finest food for the camera, and a feast for 

 the eyes of a lover of nature. 



There are diverse reasons why we go to 

 the Wabash. The Deacon goes to clear 

 his mind of eternal columns of figures. He 

 is content to fish all day and go home 

 empty handed; and quite as eager to go 

 the next time as if he had caught a full 

 stringer and had his picture taken. 



minnow bucket for her father's bass hook. 

 She sings with the birds, plays with the 

 chipmunks, and fraternizes with her name- 

 sakes, the shy little brown Molly-Cottons 

 along the snake fences. She digs roots 

 for her wild-flower bed, anemone and tril- 

 lium, violets and Dutchman's breeches, 

 bluets and columbine, and goes wild over 

 a jack-in-the-pulpit. She wades to her 

 waist sailing birch canoes, manned by 

 fierce Indian dollies, and hunts rare peb- 

 bles and shells. She lunches like a fanner, 

 and sleeps the sleep of the untroubled. 

 What more would you for childhood? 



265 



