"If Eunice she had let me trim out the under-bresh now an' then I shouldn't ha' broke my leg a-stumblin' over old tree-roots. But, no! Things must be kep' just as they was in the old Colonel's time, no matter what! She 'pears to think that timber's got as much feelin' as folks, an' I 'low there ain't no other oaks an' pines an' maples to compare with 'em left this section of the State. It makes me plumb wild to lie here helpless, an' think o' them villagers a-trompin' her brakes an' scarin' them gray squir'ls that there's so few of, anyway, let alone the birds an' chipmunks! Oh, hum!"
Surely, there was no lovelier spot in the world, so Katharine felt, finding the basket rather heavy, and running across fields the sooner to be rid of it. But this by-path led to the river and a quaint old-time bridge which spanned it; and here the girl meant to rest and give herself a lesson in angling. Setting her basket down in the shade of some alder-bushes, she swung her feet over the stone ledge of the bridge and prepared to arrange her tackle. To fit the jointed rod into a desirable length was simple enough, and to attach the line with its hook as easy; but there trouble began.
"I never thought a thing about bait, and where shall I get it? I suppose the ground is just as full of worms here as it is in the garden where the boys dig them. But—ugh! Shall I dare to touch one if I find it?" she asked herself. Then as promptly exclaimed: "I must! I just must! I'll catch the nicest fish out the water and take it home to Uncle Moses for his supper. Susanna will cook it, I'm sure—or, maybe, let me do it myself. Then I'll take it to that poor sick man on one Aunt Eunice's prettiest dishes, and he'll forgive me for saying such impudent things to him. It will make it easier to apologize if I have a gift in my hand," said this wise little maid. Unfortunately, she said it aloud, having the bad habit of talking to herself whenever there was nobody else to talk to.
Then, picking up a sharp stick, she resolutely set to work to unearth an angleworm. But this was difficult. The mold was hard and sunbaked, and the stick of little use. Its point broke repeatedly; yet the longer she labored the more determined she became, and finally she did succeed in driving a red earthworm from its haunts. No sooner had it come to the surface than she sprang away in disgust, exclaiming:
"Oh, you nasty, dirty, squirmy thing! I wouldn't touch you for anything! Indeed, I'll never learn to fish if I have to handle such beasts as you. Monty takes them in his fingers, and even cuts them in pieces if he doesn't have enough without. The horrid boy! He says it doesn't hurt them, that they're so used to it, an' till this minute I never thought how little sense there was in that. I—I guess I'll put a leaf on the hook and throw that in. I should think a fish would rather eat a nice clean leaf than a worm."
Selecting a bit of the red sorrel growing near, she baited her hook and cast her line. She had learned how to do that from seeing Uncle Moses test his various rods at home, and set herself to wait and watch with the "patience" he prescribed for any successful angler.
Waiting, she fell to day-dreaming, and, for her further ease in this line, curled herself down in the shade of the alders and closed her eyes. Beautiful pictures came to her behind those shut lids, none more lovely than this very scene of which she fancied she was the only living human feature.
"All alone in God's beautiful world! With the sky so blue and white; the woods so—so every wonderful color; the river so dark and babble-y, chattering over the stones that it had more to say than it had time to say it in; the birds singing and flying; the air so soft and warm; and nobody here but me! Well, I'm glad that even I am here, just a little girl like me, to tell Him there is somebody who sees and thanks Him!"
Then away she drifted into thoughts she could not have framed in words, but which kept all fear from her and filled her young soul with a longing to be good and to do good.
But she was not alone as she believed. Among those same alders lining the river bank lay another of God's creatures, whose dreams were unlike the child's, indeed, but upon whose clouded mind the beauty of that hour was not wholly lost. He had been asleep, as she afterward declared she had not been, and her converse with herself aroused him. He had lain down where the bushes screened him well—for hiding was a second nature to this man—and he did not move when he awoke. He merely fixed his eyes upon Katharine as he saw her through the branches and watched what she would do. He saw her fix her tackle, her struggle with herself concerning the earthworm, and smiled dully. Once he had fished from that same bridge. From among many later and less pleasant memories that stood out as clearly as anything in these later days was ever clear to this unfortunate. Ah! the girl was going to sleep! and he would fish again!