ack to my bait-catching with a
new admiration for these winged members of the brotherhood. Perhaps
there is also a bit of envy or regret in my meditation as I tie on a new
hook to replace the one that an uneasy eel is trying to rid himself of,
down in the mud. If I had only had some one to teach me like that, I
should certainly now be a better fisherman.

Next day, when the mother came up the lake to the shoal with her two
little ones, there was a surprise awaiting them. For half an hour I had
been watching from the point to anticipate their coming. There were some
things that puzzled me, and that puzzle me still, in Ismaques' fishing.
If he caught his fish in his mouth, after the methods of loon and otter,
I could understand it better. But to catch a fish--whose dart is like
lightning--under the water with his feet, when, after his plunge, he can
see neither his fish nor his feet, must require some puzzling
calculation. And I had set a trap in my head to find out how it is done.

When the fishermen hove into sight, and their eager pipings came faintly
up the lake ahead of them, I paddled hastily out and turned loose a
half-dozen chub in the shallow water. I had kept them alive as long as
possible in a big pail, and they still had life enough to fin about near
the surface. When the fishermen arrived I was sitting among the rocks as
usual, and turned to acknowledge the mother bird's _Ch'wee?_ But my
deep-laid scheme to find out their method accomplished nothing; except,
perhaps, to spoil the day's lesson. They saw my bait on the instant. One
of the youngsters dove headlong without poising, went under, missed his
fish, rose, plunged again. He got him that time and went away
sputtering. The second took his time, came down on a long swift slant,
and got his fish without going under. Almost before the lesson began it
was over. The mother circled about for a few moments in a puzzled sort
of way, watching the young fishermen flapping up the slope to their
nest. Something was wrong. She had fished enough to know that success
means something more than good luck; and this morning success had come
too easily. She wheeled slowly over the shallows, noting the fish there,
where they plainly did not belong, and dropping to examine with
suspicion one big chub that was floating, belly up, on the water. Then
she went under with a rush, where I could not see, came out again with a
fish for herself, and followed her little ones to the nest