my line as I had so often seen others, and waited anxiously for a bite,
moving the bait in rapid jerks on the surface of the water in imitation of
the leap of a frog. Nothing came of it. "Try again," said my uncle.
Suddenly the bait sank out of sight. "Now for it," thought I; "here is a
fish at last."

4. I made a strong pull, and brought up a tangle of weeds. Again and again
I cast out my line with aching arms, and drew it back empty. I looked at
my uncle appealingly. "Try once more," he said; "we fishermen must have
patience."

5. Suddenly something tugged at my line, and swept off with it into deep
water. Jerking it up, I saw a fine pickerel wriggling in the sun. "Uncle!"
I cried, looking back in uncontrollable excitement, "I've got a fish!"
"Not yet," said my uncle. As he spoke there was a plash in the water; I
caught the arrowy gleam of a scared fish shooting into the middle of the
stream, my hook hung empty from the line. I had lost my prize.

6. We are apt to speak of the sorrows of childhood as trifles in
comparison with those of grown-up people; but we may depend upon it the
young folks don't agree with us. Our griefs, modified and restrained by
reason, experience and self-respect, keep the proprieties, and, if
possible, avoid a scene; but the sorrow of childhood, unreasoning and
all-absorbing, is a complete abandonment to the passion. The doll's nose
is broken, and the world breaks up with it; the marble rolls out of sight,
and the solid globe rolls off with the marble.

7. So, overcome with my great and bitter disappointment, I sat down on the
nearest hassock, and for a time refused to be comforted, even by my
uncle's assurance that there were more fish in the brook. He refitted my