and even occasionally from Little Tim, in the
art of sailing.

They showed him how to sail the craft nicely to windward, without the
sail shaking; how to run off the wind, with no danger of jibing her; how
to reef with safety, and how to watch the water for signs of squalls.
He, in turn, told them good stories of the Fishing Club; and, as he
really did know how to fish, he returned their instruction with lessons
in this art.

It was certainly a pretty piece of sport, when Mr. Bangs would take his
light, split-bamboo fly-rod and send fifty feet of line, straightening
out its turns through the air, and dropping a tiny fly on the water as
easily as though it had fallen there in actual flight. Even Harvey, and
Tom and Bob, who had done some little fly fishing, found Mr. Bangs an
expert who could teach them more than they had ever dreamed, of its
possibilities. Little Tim, who had threshed brook waters with an alder
stick, using a ragged fly, was an apt pupil, when Mr. Bangs entrusted to
him his fine rod, and showed him how to make a real cast.

"There, you're catching it, now," exclaimed Mr. Bangs to Tim, one
morning, as they floated on the still surface of the pond, about a half
mile above the camps. "Don't let your arm go too far back on that back
cast. Don't use your shoulder. You're not chopping wood. Just use the
wrist on the forward stroke, when you get the line moving forward."

Tim, enthusiastic, tried again and again, striving to remember all
points at once, and now and then making a fair cast.

It was only practice work; but, somehow or other, a big black bass
failed to understand that, and suddenly Tim's quick eye saw the water in
a whirl about his fly. He struck, and the fish was fast.

"Well, by Jove!" exclaimed Mr. Bangs. "One never knows what's going to
happen when he's fishing. I didn't think they'd take the fly here at
this time of year. Let him have the line now, when he rushes. That's it.
Now hold him a little."

The light fly-rod was bending nearly double. Intermittently, the reel
would sing as the fish made a dash for freedom and the line ran out.

"Look out now; he's turned. Reel in," shouted Mr. Bangs, more excited
even than Little Tim. He wouldn't have had that fish get away for
anything. "Here he comes to the top," he continued. "Reel in on him.
Hold him. There, he's going to jump. Hold him. Don't let him shake the
hook out."

The black bass, a strong active fish, made a leap out of water