"May I go with you, Ian?" queried the small girl.
"No, Elsie. You're too wee for fishing, and you scare the fish."
Elsie's lip quivered. Ian feared she would cry right out on the road. Then what would he do?
"Ach, don't cry, lass. Run home to your mother, for 'tis late for you to be out, and she'll be worried."
It was all said kindly but much too eagerly. Elsie, who was keen, did not doubt for a moment that she was not wanted.
She ran off, while Ian, with a sigh—sad to say, of relief—ran to his home. He kissed his mother, took down his fishing rod, and was off for fish and dreams.
At the bridge, adventure indeed awaited him, had he but known. He settled himself in his favorite place and threw his line down into the river. Little did he suspect what was to happen.
Singing to himself, he waited. A tug on his line! So soon? Ah, the fish were biting well to-day. Mother would be pleased. What a big fish and how it pulled! Ian struggled for several minutes, and then up came his prize.
But what sort of fish was this? It looked like a fuzzy ball of brown fur. As it came up closer, Ian saw that it was a bear—a toy bear. It was undoubtedly the property of a certain Elsie Campbell!
"Out, you wee devil, out!" cried Ian, standing up and looking down under the bridge for his tormentor.