Tom thanked the gnome, you may be sure, and was eager to be off at once. So getting on to the big bird’s back again, they flew quickly away on the return journey. This time Tom had no fear. He looked down at the water below, and at the banks of the river without the least tremble; but he could not properly enjoy the wonderful things he saw because he was thinking all the time of the treat in store for him.
Arrived at the entrance to the lake, Tom was given to eat nothing more than a blade of grass picked from the bank of the river. He felt a shudder pass through him, and it seemed as if the water called and beckoned to him—he could not keep back.
“Good-bye, kind little gnome, I must jump into the water. Thank you! Thank you! Thank you!”
He found himself floating through the water murmuring “Thank you, thank you,” but already he was some distance across the Lake. What fun it was floating about without the least effort! He swam across to the landing stage where the caretaker keeps the very boat Tom helped, one day, to clean. He poked his nose out to look at things.
“A fish! a fish! I’m positive I saw a fish,” exclaimed a man who was standing on the steps talking to the caretaker.
“I’m positive you did not see a fish, sir,” answered the other. “I have lived here long enough, and at first I fished often enough, but I never saw a fish or felt a bite; nothing lives in this water.”
Tom poked up his nose again, this time to see who was talking to the man-in-charge, for the voice of the man seemed familiar to him. The man was his uncle. It was such a surprise to see his uncle there, that Tom gave a jump in the water. Both men were looking at the spot, and this time it was the man-in-charge who cried, “A fish! a fish! I’m positive I saw a fish.” Then he darted away to a place from which he drew forth a rod, baited it, jumped into his boat, and with Tom’s uncle rowed to a spot where Tom had been just a few minutes before.
“Now for some fun,” thought Tom. “I’ll nibble the line some distance above the hook, and they will get wild after a time.” And they did get wild when time after time the line was dragged down, and yet the bait was never touched. Tom at last grew quite careless, he nibbled nearer and nearer the hook, and at last was caught. How it happened he did not know, but he was firmly hooked; it hurt his lip when he tried to back away, so he at last allowed the man to pull him up into the boat. “If there is one fish there must be more,” cried his uncle; “unhook him and bait again.”
It hurt Tom worse still when the hook was dragged out of his lip, but what his uncle said hurt the worst: it was, “I’ll put the poor thing out of its misery, give me your pocket knife.” He held Tom, the fish, in his left hand, took the knife, and was just going to stab when Tom cried out in agony, “Uncle, uncle, don’t you know me.”