“So you did,” admitted Ted. “But I’ll get a big fish soon.”
“That was big enough!” laughed Janet, pointing to the rubber boot, from a hole in the toe of which water was running.
“But it isn’t real,” said Ted ruefully. “Just you wait!”
When Janet went back to the comfortable place she had picked out for herself and William, Ted again took his position on the jutting-out bank near the deep eddy. Once again he threw in his line, letting out plenty of it. But this time, instead of gazing off at the distant hills, Ted kept watch of his tackle. Presently he saw it begin to move in toward the shore at a place where tall grass and rushes made a secret hiding place.
“That’s funny,” said Ted to himself. “If a fish was on my hook a fish would move out toward the middle of the brook—not toward the bank.” For this is true of fishes. Once hooked, they try to get into deep water, hoping to get the sharp point out of their mouth.
But Ted’s line was being slowly pulled in toward the grass-screened bank, and it wasn’t at all as if a fish was hooked.
“It might be a mud turtle,” thought the lad. “A turtle would go slow like that—but not a fish. I’ll wait and see what happens.”
His line was pulled in a little farther toward the bank. There was a movement in the tall grass and the lad felt a tug on his pole as if a fish were nibbling. It was just like the other two “bites” he had.
“Now to see what it is!” thought Ted.
But instead of calling to his sister to look what a big “fish” he had, the lad kept quiet and began to haul in.