Part 8 (1/2)

”Well, I ain't,” said Horace, pulling his hat over his eyes, and looking ashamed. ”The teacher don't keep no order, and I won't go to such a school, so there!”

”They don't want _me_ to go,” said Prudy, ”'cause I should know too much. I can say all my letters now, right down straight, 'thout looking on, either.”

”O, ho!” cried Horace, trailing his long pole, ”you can't say 'em skipping about, and I shouldn't care, if I was you. But you ought to know how to fish, Miss. Don't you wish you could drop in your line, and catch 'em the way I do?”

”Do they like to have you catch 'em?” said Prudy, dropping her little dipper, and going to the fence; ”don't it hurt?”

”Hurt? Not as I know of. They needn't bite if they don't want to.”

”No,” returned Prudy, looking very wise, ”I s'pose they want to get out, and that's why they bite. Of course when fishes stay in the water much it makes 'em drown.”

”O, my stars!” cried Horace, laughing, ”you ought to live 'out west,'

you're such a cunning little spud. Come, now, here's another fish-pole for you. I'll show you how to catch one, and I bet 'twill be a pollywog--you're just big enough.”

”But grandma didn't say I might go down to the river. Wait till I go ask her.”

”Poh!” said Horace, ”no you needn't; I have to hurry. Grandma _always_ likes it when you go with me, Prudy, because you see I'm a boy, and she knows I can take care of you twice as well as Grace and Susy can.”

”O,” cried Prudy, clapping her little hands, ”they won't any of 'em know I can fish, and how they'll laugh. But there, now, they don't let me climb the fence--I forgot.”

”Well, give us your bonnet, and then you 'scooch' down, and I'll pull you through.”

”There,” said the naughty boy, when they had got down to the river, ”now I've been and put a bait on the end of your hook, and I plump it in the water--so. You just hold on to the pole.”

”But it jiggles--it tips me!” cried Prudy; and as she spoke she fell face downwards on the bank.

”Well, that's smart!” said Horace, picking her up. ”There, you sit down next time, and I'll prop up the pole with a rock--this way.

There, now, you hold it a little easy, and when you feel a nibble you let me know.”

”What's a nibble?” asked Prudy, shaking the line.

”A nibble? Why, it's a bite.”

They sat quite still for some minutes, the hot sun glaring on Prudy's bare head with its rings of soft golden hair.

”Now, now!” cried she suddenly, ”I've got a nibble!”

Horace sprang to draw up her line.

”I feel it right here on my neck,” said the child; ”I s'pose it's a fly.”

”Now, look here,” said Horace, rather vexed, ”you're a little too bad.

You made me drop my line just when I was going to have a nibble. Wait till you feel the string wiggle, and then speak, but don't scream.”

The children sat still for a few minutes longer, and no sound was heard but now and then a wagon going over the bridge. But they might as well have dropped their lines in the sand for all the fish they caught. Horace began to wish he had gone to school.

”O dear!” groaned Prudy, getting tired, ”I never did see such fishes.

I guess they don't want to be catched.”