“Never mind,” said Philip, “I’ll soon find some more;” and he directly set to work, pulling up tufts of grass and kicking down pieces of the bank wherever it looked at all damp; but all in vain, not a worm could he find; and he was just about giving up his task in despair, when a shout from Harry took his attention.
“Here, come here!” said Harry, “I’ve got such a thumper.”
Fred and Philip both ran up to him, and sure enough he seemed to have got hold of a “thumper,” as he called it, for his line was running about backwards and forwards through the water, while the willow wand which served him for a rod was bent half double.
“Pull him to the side, and I’ll get hold of the line,” said Philip.
“But he won’t come,” said Harry, trying to play his fish to the bank, but without success, for just then it made a dart right out towards the middle of the pond. Harry’s wand bent more and more, and, just as the greatest strain occurred, the line divided about two feet above the float, the wand gave a smart rebound, and poor Harry, the picture of disappointment, stood with a short piece of line waving about at the end of his stick, gazing woefully after his lost fish.
“Oh—oh—oh—h—h!” groaned Philip and Fred together, “what a pity!”
Harry continued to look most rueful, but said nothing.
“It must have been a jack,” said Philip. “What a big one! Why didn’t you pull it out when I told you?”
“How could I,” said Harry, “when it was dragging so?”
“I am sorry,” said Fred; “it must have been a great stickleback to pull the line in half.”