Haven't you been gone an awfully long time? And are those all the
fish you've caught? What little bits of things they are! I
thought people who camped out caught big fish and lots of them?"

"That depends a good deal upon where they go," said I.

"Yes, I suppose so," replied Euphemia; "but I should think a stream
as big as this would have plenty of fish in it. However, if you
can't catch any, you might go up to the road and watch for Mr.
Mulligan. He sometimes comes along on Mondays."

"I'm not going to the road to watch for any fish-man," I replied, a
little more testily than I should have spoken. "What sort of a
camping out would that be? But we must not be talking here or I
shall never get a bite. Those fish are a little soiled from
jumping about in the dust. You might wash them off at that shallow
place, while I go a little further on and try my luck."

I went a short distance up the creek, and threw my line into a
dark, shadowy pool, under some alders, where there certainly should
be fish. And, sure enough, in less than a minute I got a splendid
bite,--not only a bite, but a pull. I knew that I had certainly
hooked a big fish! The thing actually tugged at my line so that I
was afraid the pole would break. I did not fear for the line, for
that, I knew, was strong. I would have played the fish until he
was tired, and I could pull him out without risk to the pole, but I
did not know exactly how the process of "playing" was conducted. I
was very much excited. Sometimes I gave a jerk and a pull, and
then the fish would give a jerk and a pull.