“It isn’t sunset yet, Miss Elting. There should be good fishing for half an hour yet.”
“Well, are you going to fish, or are you going to talk all the time during that half hour?” demanded Margery.
For answer Harriet swung the pole above her head. With a swish the dusty miller described a long curve in the air, then dived for the water, which it took with the faintest possible disturbance.
There followed a swish and a splash. The rod bent until it seemed to the spectators as though it would break under the strain. A flashing, scintillating body jumped through the air, then plunged down deep into the clear waters of the pond.
“A fithh! A fithh!” screamed Tommy. “Harriet hath got a fithh. Oh, goodie, goodie, goodie!”
“Pull him in. You’ll lose him!” shouted Margery.
“Now will you look at our Harriet?” cried Crazy Jane, hugging herself gleefully, swaying her body from side to side in the ecstasy of her delight.
The trout that Harriet Burrell had hooked was a lively fish. It was darting and diving with wonderful strength and quickness. The line cut the water with a swish, swish, swish that was plainly heard by all.
“Get it, Harriet! Oh, do get it,” begged Hazel, in an agony of apprehension lest the trout succeed in freeing itself.
“The real fun of catching a fish is ‘playing’ it, just as Harriet is doing,” answered Miss Elting.