This morning I'm writing about. I was out on the towpath, fishing for
eels, so I could put one in the tub which stands by the pump to catch
the overflow; because Aunty May is very much afraid of snakes and eels,
and she squeals so funny when she sees them that it is what Mr. Taylor
calls "a fair treat" to hear her.

I thought if I got her good and scared with seeing one in the tub, she
might be so mad that she'd not be able to write, and would chase me
round the garden.

It's too bad Aunty May's grown up. She likes to play as well as any boy
I know, and she's good at it, too, if it wasn't for her writing. Uncle
Burt used to complain of that writing, too, when he was home. He said it
interfered a lot--when he wanted her to play with him.

Anyway the eels didn't bite, but I thought maybe I'd get a sunfish, and
that's nearly as good a scream-starter, if Aunty May doesn't expect it
to be there.

All at once, I felt my cap pushed right off, and I looked up and there
was a boy, riding on the top of an old gray mule, that was one of two
tired-looking mules, dragging a canal boat.

There was nobody on the boat that I could see, 'cept one man asleep on
the top.

"Gimme my cap, boy," I said.

"Aw, you and your fishin'," he says. "Git off the towpath."