The hook was fast to something, that was plain; but I thought at first that Uncle Joe had caught a snag or a lily-pad. There was a jerk that made me wonder, and in an instant more I was bent almost half double; but with all the strain that was brought to bear upon me, the thing at the other end of the line, whatever it was, did not give an inch. On the contrary, it started and ran off toward the middle of the spring hole; and then I began to realize that I was doing battle with a trout of the largest size. Now was the time to show my master that he had been much mistaken in me.
I need not stop to go into the particulars of the fight, for every boy who has caught a heavy trout on a light rod will know just what happened; and besides, to be frank with you, I don’t remember much about it. Neither does Joe Wayring, who was so highly excited that he could not stand still. I recollect he afterward told his chums that the fish jumped clear out of the water two or three times, and then started from the middle of the spring hole and ran toward the angler at the top of his speed, trying to loosen the line so that the hook would drop out of his mouth; but the automatic reel took up the slack as fast as he made it, and his mad rushes about the spring hole had no other result than to tire him out, so that he could offer but feeble resistance when he was reeled in to the bank. The moment he was brought within reach Joe slipped a landing net under him and lifted him out.
“Two pounds and three ounces,” he almost shouted, after he had weighed him on his pocket scales. “Now, Uncle Joe, what’s your opinion of that rod?”
“A fair sized fish for these waters,” said Uncle Joe, as he stepped to the edge of the spring hole for another cast. “As for the rod—it’s as good a one as you need wish for. If you will take care of him, he will last as long as you will, barring accident.”
I will not dwell upon the incidents of the day, for I must hasten on to tell you what happened to me during my first visit to Indian Lake. It will be enough to say that Joe and his uncle enjoyed themselves, as they always did whenever they went anywhere together, and that my master after an hour or two of assiduous practice, learned to make short casts with tolerable accuracy, and to show considerable skill in handling the fish he hooked. When the two went home a little before dark Joe’s creel was not as full as his uncle’s, but the few trout he captured with his light tackle, afforded him more genuine sport than twice the number of bass taken on a heavy bait-rod.
That day was the beginning of a busy season for me. Every Saturday, rain or shine, found me at the spring hole or wandering along the banks of some of the numerous streams that ran into Mirror Lake. I caught a good many fish, soon got over my nervousness, and looked forward to the long summer vacation with as much impatience as Joe himself. It came at last, being ushered in by a canoe meet on the 3rd of July, and a grand parade on the 4th, in which the Toxophilites and Scouts both took part. There was a good deal of rivalry between these two organizations—so much, indeed, that the usual exhibition drill at the park was given by the military company, thus putting it out of the power of either club to crow over the other. But still there was considerable crowing done, especially by Tom Bigden and a few envious fellows like him.
“Don’t you remember what vociferous applause the Toxophilites received last 4th?” said he, to his cousins.
“Yes; and I remember how mad you were about it, too,” replied Loren.
“I know it. I couldn’t bear to see them throw on so many airs, but I little thought that I should aid in making them take back seats at their next parade. I have yet to see any one who will say that the Scouts didn’t do just as fine marching in the procession as the Toxophilites did.”
Of course I did not see the parade, and neither did I witness the sports that were held during the canoe meet, for I was shut up in Joe’s room so far from a window that I could not tell what was going on out-doors. But I heard the music of the band, and the cheers that arose whenever some lucky fellow carried off a prize, and the exciting and amusing incidents that happened during those two days of festivity, were so often talked of in my hearing, that I was pretty well posted after all. I was glad to learn that my master won the paddle race very easily, and that he pushed Roy and Arthur so closely in the hurry-skurry race that the referee had half a mind to order another contest. But Joe and Arthur said that Roy was ahead, and as the other boys backed them up, Roy was awarded the prize. There was no attempt at fouling this time. Every thing was conducted fairly, as it always had been previous to Tom Bigden’s arrival in the village, and every member of the club won or lost on his merits.