September, 1919 
FOREST AND STREAM 
471 
soon had a piece evidently to her liking. 
Proceeding down the path, she took up 
the net and handed it to Matt without a 
word and the two laid the wire on, evi- 
dently much to the lady’s satisfaction and 
triumph. Matt going to the shed, where, 
as soon as out of sight, he became con- 
vulsed with laughter, bringing first one 
knee nearly up to his chin then the other 
and slapping them alternately with his 
hands as he did so. “Gosh,” he said 
under his breath, “she never once tum- 
bled.” 
Seldom is it, in the controversies of life 
that both sides can claim a signal victory. 
But, each had that piece of chicken wire 
exactly where each wanted it, and Matt 
had saved his precious net. Whether or 
not a flaw of wind had folded back a por- 
tion of the net or a deft turn of the hoe 
handle had prepared it for Aunt Mary’s 
observation history perhaps will 
never record. 
T he mid-day meal was scarcely 
over when Mr. Woodhull put 
in appearance. There was an 
appreciable change in the man. 
His step was more elastic and firm 
and a tinge of tan was on his face. 
Fresh milk and eggs, as well as 
the country air and sunshine, were 
working their silent miracle and 
his soul was glad. His greeting 
was pleasant and his reception 
most cordial. Matt placed a rock- 
ing chair for him in the shade of 
the morning-glory vines, which 
clambered in confusion about the 
porch. “Well, my boy,” he said, 
“how about the perch? I went 
down to the pond yesterday and 
stayed until after dinner time. I 
had some worms and I caught some 
grasshoppers but I didn’t get any 
fish.” “Shucks,” said Matt, “no- 
body can’t do nothing with perch 
in the middle of the day, ’cept when 
it’s rainin’ or real cloudy, ’sides 
they want fishin’ for close up to 
where some bushes is or close to 
a bank. When you find where a 
wash down comes from a field an’ 
the’s gravel plenty, where the water 
goes off real deep, it’s the best place 
ever, though why I do’ know. But to 
make sure to get ’emf take a cloudy 
day an’ late an’ then on to dark, usin’ 
worms or minnes, ’nen if you’re in the 
right pond you get ’em. The’s two 
kinds of perch in the pond above the 
dam. Two meb’e three years ago some 
men come down here with big cans and 
turned a lot loose, yellow perch they said. 
They’ve got black stripes on ’em run up 
an’ down, not long ways. ’Tother kind, 
the white ones, alius have been here I 
guess. I never heard no different.” Mr. 
Woodhull smiled at Matt’s quaint man- 
ner of description, then said : “I met Mr. 
Adams this morning and he wants to go 
with us some time, as he is very fond of 
this kind of fishing. They’ve been get- 
ting some new lines and hooks at the 
store. Mr. Adams wanted a line for his 
reel and I bought this spool. There’s 
enough on it for a good many lines to 
use on a pole,” and he showed the lad 
his purchase. Matt’s eyes went wide 
open. He had never used any but the 
heavier cotton lines and he looked doubt- 
fully at the Slender thread-like line. 
“Might’s well use a spider web,” he said. 
“A big pike’d smash it quicker’n scat.” 
“Try it,” said his friend. And Matt did 
try, first by a pull, which he thought suf- 
ficient to break it then up across his 
breast, finally wrapping it around both 
hands and pulling until the line was deep- 
ly imbedded in the flesh, but it did not 
break. “Gee,” he said, “what’s it made 
of? Cuts like a wire.” Mr. Woodhull 
explained that it was made from Irish 
flax, the best possible material for a line. 
Matt’s stock of poles underwent a 
strong inspection that day. Two of the 
very lightest were selected for use in 
their coming “perch” excursion. The 
“tin blickey,” as Matt termed the tin 
pail, had been taken by Aunt Mary for 
watering the chickens. It had been found 
Patiently waiting for something to happen 
in the little village dump-heap as a dis- 
card and was of good size for a “live 
bait” pail. Though battered, it did not 
leak and the dents, as Matt afterward 
said, were like his freckles, “while they 
didn’t help none, was’nt in nobody’s way.” 
The boy was by far too good a judge of 
matters to raise or even to suggest, a 
substitute for the pail. The net incident 
had been a victory and now the least slip 
in diplomacy in the way of getting his 
pail when he needed it might be the sig- 
nal far the verdict, to let that pail stay 
right where it was. 
Such decisions must not be construed 
as stubborness on the aunt’s part. It 
was discipline, and keeping her house in 
order. 
A visit to the swamp nearby had re- 
sulted in finding what man and boy 
had agreed would make a proper landing 
net frame, in the shape of a forked birch. 
It was cut and smoothly trimmed; the 
two ends being brought around and se- 
cured to a cross section of stick, making 
a neat oval. While not as perfect as the 
one seen in the tackle store, still it could 
be made effective, they thought, and that 
\/as sufficient. Carefully the fly net had 
been gone over and a section cut which 
would be ample for their purpose, allow- 
ing a proper bag for the retention of 
fish, once they were taken in. 
Matt had sacrificed a stout line for use 
in whipping the net to the frame and 
their heads were close together as, seated 
cn the grass, they wove the line, first 
through the mesh and then around the 
frame. As a boy, the man had had a love 
for the great out-doors but now it was 
taking hold in a different manner. Gad’s 
sunshine, through woods and meadow, 
was giving him life. Besides he was fast 
imbibing the spirit of the healthy country 
boy whose ei\thusiasm was contagious. 
“This birch from the swamps is good and 
tough,” said Mr. Woodhull, as the lashing 
on process was finished and he was bend- 
ing a little here and there on the 
frame to make it a little more trim 
in form. “Gosh, yes,” returned 
Matt, “so tough I’ve wish’t mar’n 
once’t it never’d growed. Aunt 
Mary’s handed it to me sometimes 
a plenty,” and looking up both saw 
that personage regarding their 
work in a quiet manner, her el- 
bows resting on the fence. Matt 
^ grinned a little. Woodhull laughed 
outright and Aunt Mary said : “I 
reckon you never got moren’s 
what’s healthy.” While never com- 
menting on it, it was a source of 
pride with her to have the boy 
in the company of men of clean 
habits and mind and not seeking 
the comradeship of coarser char- 
acters. While privileged to go al- 
most at will, parts of days, to the 
pond and creeks, still, an all-day’s 
trip such as w'as contemplated with 
the perch was a different matter. 
It had been decided between the 
two that Mr. Woodhull was to ask 
concession in the boy’s behalf. The 
time seemed propitious, and the 
subject was finally broached. 
“Land sakes,” was the* response, 
“it would seem that two grown men 
might know more about such 
things and not have a slip of a boy tod- 
dle along to show ’em, but,” and her ar- 
gument unconsciously carried a note of 
pride at his accomplishments, “his work 
must all be done first.” Mr. Woodhull 
was far too diplomatic to argue against 
any possible point of the aunt’s view of 
the matter other than to show her that 
the lad’s knowledge of fish and their ways 
was far superior to his own. 
Matt sat without a word during the 
conversation, digging his toe in the 
ground as was his wont when thoughtful, 
and, as he afterward said : “If I’d said a 
word about how I knowed where and 
when fish was, mos’ like she’d said it was 
owing’ to her a bringin’ me up.” With 
delight the boy saw Mr. Woodhull fit up 
the two poles with the fine line which he 
had brought down and he promised to 
see that the worms were in proper condi- 
tion when the great day arrived, which 
really came on the third one from the day 
of the making of the landing net. 
Matt had met Mr. Adams at the store 
on the evening before and as it gave 
(CONTINUED ON PAGE 505 ) 
