After that she jammed her boy’s cap down over one eye, squinted at the water with the other, and sat quietly down to wait.
A moment passed into eternity; another, and yet another. Five minutes, ten, fifteen. The water lapped and gurgled about the boat. A slight breeze set the bullrushes murmuring. A great, green dragon fly came bobbing along over the water. A sea gull soared aloft, but uttered never a sound. From his point of vantage, what did he see? Two girls fishing. Quite true. But what of the fish? Were those three bass lying among the weeds? Had they seen the crawfish?
It was Tillie who first knew the answer. The rattler was off her reel. The reel spun round with no effort and no sound. Suddenly it stopped.
Tillie placed a thumb on the spool, then counted in a whisper. “One, two, three, four, five.”
The tip of her pole executed a whip-like motion. The fish was hooked, the battle begun.
She gave him line. She reeled him in. He saw the boat and ran. He leaped a full foot from the water. He came down with a splash. The line slackened. Was he off? No. One more wild tug.
And after that a slow, relentless battle in which the girl won.
The fish lay flopping in the boat, a fine three pounder. Tillie bent over him, exultant, when with startling suddenness a voice sounded in her ear.
“Hey, you kids! Beat it! This is our fishing hole.” The tone was cold and gruff.
Tillie looked up in amazement. Then she scowled. A trim sailboat, manned by two boys and a girl, all in their late teens, had glided silently up to them and dropped anchor.