glanced toward the barn in time to see Dannie's shaking shoulders
as he turned from the door. With unexpected patience, he firmly closed
his lips and went after a ladder. By the time he had the sinker loose
and the line untangled, supper was ready. By the time he had mastered
the reel, and could land the sinker accurately in front of various
imaginary beds of bass weeds, Dannie had finished the night work in
both stables and gone home. But his back door stood open and therefrom
there protruded the point of a long, heavy cane fish pole. By the light
of a lamp on his table, Dannie could be seen working with pincers and a
ball of wire.

"I wonder what he thinks he can do?" said Jimmy.

"I suppose he is trying to fix some way to get that fifteen feet more
line he needs," replied Mary.

When they went to bed the light still burned and the broad shoulders of
Dannie bent over the pole. Mary had fallen asleep, but she was awakened
by Jimmy slipping from the bed. He went to the window and looked toward
Dannie's cabin. Then he left the bedroom and she could hear him
crossing to the back window of the next room. Then came a smothered
laugh and he softly called her. She went to him.

Dannie's figure stood out clear and strong in the moonlight, in his
wood-yard. His black outline looked unusually powerful in the silvery
whiteness surrounding it.

He held his fishing pole in both hands and swept a circle about him
that would have required considerable space on Lake Michigan, and made
a cast toward the barn. The line ran out smoothly and evenly, and
through the gloom Mary saw Jimmy's figure straighten and his lips close
in surprise. Then Dannie began taking in line. That process was so
slow, Jimmy doubled up and laughed again.

"Be lookin' at that, will ye?" he heaved. "What does the domn fool
think the Black Bass will be doin' while he is takin' in line on that
young windlass?"

"There'd be no room on the river to do that," answered Mary serenely.
"Dannie wouldn't be so foolish as to try. All he wants now is to see if
his line will run, and it will. Whin he gets to the river, he'll swing
his bait where he wants it with his pole, like he always does, and whin
the Bass strikes he'll give it the extra fifteen feet more line he said
he needed, and thin he'll have a pole and line with which he can land
it."

"Not on your life he won't!" said Jimmy.

He opened the back door and stepped out just as Dannie raised the pole
again.