Mr. Jeremy stuck his pole into the mud and fastened the boat to it.

Then he settled himself cross-legged and arranged his fishing tackle. He
had the dearest little red float. His rod was a tough stalk of grass, his
line was a fine long white horse-hair, and he tied a little wriggling worm
at the end.

The rain trickled down his back, and for nearly an hour he stared at the
float.

"This is getting tiresome, I think I should like some lunch," said Mr.
Jeremy Fisher.

He punted back again amongst the water-plants, and took some lunch out of
his basket.

"I will eat a butterfly sandwich, and wait till the shower is over," said
Mr. Jeremy Fisher.

A great big water-beetle came up underneath the lily leaf and tweaked the
toe of one of his goloshes.

Mr. Jeremy crossed his legs up shorter, out of reach, and went on eating
his sandwich.

Once or twice something moved about with a rustle and a splash amongst
the rushes at the side of the pond.

"I trust that is not a rat," said Mr. Jeremy Fisher; "I think I had better
get away from here."