She gathered herself on the bank for one desperate effort. She must catch him as he ran toward her and try to flick him out of the water. It was her only chance. She might break the line or the pole and lose him entirely, but she would try it.
Twinkle-tail came shooting through the water, directly at her. She suddenly threw her strength on the pole. It bent nearly double but it held. And the fish, adding his own blind rush to her strength, was whipped clear out on to the grass. Dropping the pole, she dove desperately at him where he fought on the very edge of the bank. Finally she caught the line a few inches above his mouth, and her prize was secure.
“It’s you, Twinkle-tail,” she panted, as she held him up for a good look, “sure enough!”
She carried him back to a large stone and despatched him painlessly with a blunt stick. Then she sat down to rest, for she was weak and dizzy from her struggle.
Looking down at Twinkle-tail where he lay, she said aloud:
“I wish Jeffrey was here. He’ll never believe it was you unless he sees you.”
“Yes, that’s him all right,” said a voice behind her. “I’d know him in a thousand.”
She sprang up and faced Jeffrey Whiting.
“Why, where did you come from? Your mother told me you wouldn’t be back till to-morrow.”