“Oh, dear! that’s just wicked”; her tone was full of disappointment.
“Never mind,” her companion consoled her; “half the fish we do catch get away, you know. Try again, now, but don’t get so excited and jerk so hard next time.”
She cast her line again but without results; again and again she cast, but no fish rose. Discouragement began to show in her face.
“Maybe we have scared them out,” suggested Fred, as she flung once more across the ripples.
Like a flash to answer his doubt, there came a second splash of the waters. Another trout had grabbed the fly.
“Keep cool now,” the boy cautioned her; “he’s hooked solidly; you’ll land him if you keep steady.”
He stepped toward the bank to give help if needed, while Alta, a picture of mingled joy, suspense, and eagerness, slowly drew the struggling, splashing trout toward the shore. Then with a deft flip of the curving rod, she tossed it ten feet or more up the bank. Dropping her rod, she danced and clapped her hands in childlike delight, while Fred, whose heart was dancing too, unloosed the hook.
“There, now, your bet is fairly won,” he said.
“Oh, this is jolly!” she responded; “Uncle will be glad to give me that dollar, he’ll be so proud of me.” Then she added graciously, “How can I ever thank you for this?”
“Don’t try. It’s the best fun I’ve had to-day. Do you want to catch another?”