"Uncle Pius, you've got a bite, you've got a bite!" they would often exclaim, as his red-cedar float disappeared below the water. The old negro, however, seemed to take no notice of their warning. He remained motionless for a few seconds as if lost in deep thought, then gave a quick jerk to fasten the hook, and landed his prize, much to the admiration and astonishment of his young companions. One day the fish were biting rapidly. Uncle Pius had secured a nice string, while Owen and Martin had made their usual record—bite, bite, bite, but not a fish.
"Uncle Pius," said Owen, "I am getting tired of this. I wish you'd show us how to fish."
"Yes," chimed in Martin, "we've lost a bucketful of minnows and haven't caught one perch."
"Well, Massar Ow'n and Massar Martin," said the grave old negro, laying aside his reed and assuming an air of professional dignity, "dis am an awful good proposishion (he meant occasion) for to larn how to ketch perks, for dey's awful hungry to-day and is bitin' right smart—some days dey bite right scattarin'. I would hab tole you long 'fore dis how to fish, but I know'd you'd say dat you know'd all about fishin' before this old niggar told you. Fust, you must know how to put the minnar on de hook," he continued, taking a large shiner from the bucket and baiting the hook with great care. "Run de hook right fru de lower lip—see dar; den right fru the upper lip—see dar, just a little 'low de eye—see dar; not too deep, or you'll kill the critter—see dar."
Uncle Pius handed the pole to Owen, told him to cast out near a fallen tree, and not to pull until the perch started off with the line. Owen had not to wait long for a bite. His float soon disappeared, and although Uncle Pius yelled "let 'im go, chile," the young fisherman in his excitement jerked with all his force, missed the fish, and entangled his line among the branches overhead.
"You's always a-rushin'," expostulated the old negro.
While Owen climbed the tree to get the line, Martin took his lesson in fishing, and was determined not to pull until Uncle Pius gave the signal.
"How do you know when to pull?" he asked.
"Dar ain't no rule, Massar Martin; it kindar comes natu'al when one knows how."
Soon the cedar float went under. It was evident from the rapidity with which it disappeared that no small perch had bitten. The few brief seconds that followed seemed an hour. Martin trembled with excitement; still he waited for the word to pull.