"Yes," answered his father, "that's the biggest fish I have seen in these parts for many a year. Your mother will certainly fix up a feast for us with that fish. She can stuff it and add a few slices of nice, sweet bacon."
"Yum, yum," said Bobby, "it makes my mouth water to think about it. Can't we go right home now?"
"Oh, no," said his father. "The fish are biting so well today, we had better stay a while longer. Besides it will give us a chance to dry our clothes, sitting here in this hot sun. I don't want you to catch cold, you know. It's shady all the way home through the woods."
"But what will we do with the big fish? He's liable to get away. Just look at him flopping about on the bank."
"Don't you worry about that fish. I'll fix him." So saying, Father Bear took a stout cord from his pocket. One end he passed through the fish's mouth—the other he tied around a young tree. Then he threw the fish back into the river to keep it fresh until it was time to go home.
Being a bright, sunny day, Bobby and his father soon were dry. Bobby rolled in the long grass, then sat on a stump in the sun. Father Bear who laughed at cold and heat, and trouble, and danger, simply shrugged his shoulders and lit his pipe. Then he went on fishing.
Many more fish were caught before the sun going down warned them it was time to go home. They rolled up their lines, threw the poles in the river, then tossed the worms after them and started back through the thick woods to their cave.
Father Bear had a big string of fish. Bobby proudly carried the one which had pulled him into the water. It was so heavy it made a load in itself. He wanted his mother to see him with his first fish—and a monster at that.