Page 49 - A Little Bush Maid

feeling and bobbing your line vainly, while excitement lulls to expectation,
and expectation merges into hope, and hope becomes wishing, and wishing

often dies down to disappointment.

Such was the gradual fate of the fishing party at Anglers’ Bend. At first the
four floats were watched with an intensity of regard that should surely have
had some effect in luring fishes to the surface; but as the minutes dragged

by and not a fish seemed inclined even to nibble, the solemn silence which
had brooded on the quartet was broken by sundry fidgetings and wrigglings

and suppressed remarks on the variableness of fish and the slowness of
fishing. Men enjoy the sport, because they can light their pipes and smoke
in expectant ease; but the consolation of tobacco was debarred from boys

who were, as Jim put it, "too young to smoke and too old to make idiots of
themselves by trying it," and so they found it undeniably dull.

Billy came down to join the party presently, after he had seen to his horses
and unpacked old Polly’s load. His appearance gave Jim a brilliant idea, and

he promptly despatched the black boy for cake, which proved a welcome
stimulant to flagging enthusiasm.

"Don’t know if fish care about cake crumbs," said Harry, finishing a huge
slice with some regret.

"Didn’t get a chance of sampling any of mine," Wally laughed; "T wanted it

all myself. Hallo!"

"What is it--a bite?"

"Rather--such a whopper! T’ve got it, too," Wally gasped, tugging at his

line.

"You’ve got it, right enough," Jim said. "Why, your rod’s bending right

over. Want a hand?"

"No, thanks--manage it myself," said the fisherman, tugging manfully.
"Here she comes!"