FISHIN' JIMMY


BY

ANNIE TRUMBULL SLOSSON


AUTHOR'S EDITION




1889




FISHIN' JIMMY

It was on the margin of Pond Brook, just back of Uncle Eben's, that
I first saw Fishin' Jimmy. It was early June, and we were again at
Franconia, that peaceful little village among the northern hills.

The boys, as usual, were tempting the trout with false fly or real
worm, and I was roaming along the bank, seeking spring flowers, and
hunting early butterflies and moths. Suddenly there was a little
plash in the water at the spot where Ralph was fishing, the slender
tip of his rod bent, I heard a voice cry out, "Strike him, sonny,
strike him!" and an old man came quickly but noiselessly through