“Huh! ketched me nappin',” said he. “I declare, Bill, I'm kind o' shamed.”
I could see that he felt the pathos of that moment.
“I guess we've fished enough,” he said to himself, as he broke off the end of the pole and began to wind his line upon it. “When the fish hev t' wake ye up to be hauled in its redic'lous. The next time I go fishin' with you I'm goin' t' be rigged proper.”
In a moment he went on: “Fishin' ain't what it used t' be. I've grown old and lazy, an' so has the brook. They've cut the timber an' dried the springs, an' by an' by the live water will go down to the big sea, an' the dead water will sink into the ground, an' you won't see any brook there.”
We began our walk up one of the cowpaths.
“One more look,” said he, facing about, and gazing up and down the