“And there aren’t but a teenty-weenty few,” cried Joel aghast at the loss. “Oh, you’re a bad boy, Peletiah Henderson,” he added wrathfully, as he examined the contents of the tin can.
“I’m not a bad boy—I’m the minister’s son,” said Peletiah calmly. And selecting the longest and the fattest of the remaining worms, he proceeded to fasten it on his hook.
“I don’t care. You’re the baddest of the bad boys, and you shan’t have any more of these worms.” With that Joel huddled up the tin can within his arms, and marched off to a safe corner back of the bushes.
“See my fish,” cried Ezekiel, coming up to swing his line so that all the others could have a good view. “I caught the first one.”
“I don’t care,” said Joel, busy over David’s tangled hook; “I’ll catch the next one.” Then he twitched off the piece of root, stuck on a worm, David hurrying off to cover his eyes,—and jumped to his feet, and in a minute he was over on the big stone.
But he didn’t get the fish. Instead it was Davie’s worm that met the eyes of a fat old father trout that came lazily down the little purling brook. He had always warned his children, had this fat old trout, to beware of boys, and dancing bugs and worms. But he was tired on this day, and hungry, having eaten nothing since a breakfast of two flies. And the first thing he knew a juicy morsel was in his mouth. But alas! he couldn’t swallow it—for something stuck fast and held him pinned. And one of those same dreadful boys was shouting, “I have got one, Joel!”
When the fat old trout was laid on the grass, all the boys stood around it in speechless admiration.
Finally Joel found his tongue. “Dave caught that,” he announced proudly. “My brother Dave caught that all by himself.”
“It was Joel’s worm,” said Davie.
“I caught the first one,” said Ezekiel. He couldn’t take his eyes from the big fish. At last he ran and tucked his little trout in the basket, and shut the cover down very tightly.