When You Were a Boy

by Edwin L. Sabin

From his stand Hen also threw in.

An interval of suspense ensued. The placid water was full of delightful possibilities. What glided therein that might be caught! You besought your bobber with a gaze almost hypnotic; but the bobber floated motionless and obdurate.

“Snoopie’s got a bite!”

At the announcement you darted apprehensive glances in Snoopie’s direction. You were greedy enough to harbor the wish—but, ah!

“Snoopie’s got one! Snoopie’s got one!”

Snoopie’s pole had energetically reared upward and backward, and, as if at its beckoning, something small, black, and glistening had popped straight out from the glassy surface before and had flown high into the brush behind.

Snoopie rushed after, and Hen and you discarded everything and rushed, too.

“Jus’ a bullhead!”

So it was, and quite three inches long.

Snoopie ostentatiously strung it on a bit of cord and tethered it, at the water’s edge, to a stake. Then he threw in again and promptly caught another.