and without drawing it in for a few moments, but
could see no reasonable objection to that last worm. His heart sank a
little, but pshaw! only four hooks out of forty were up yet! wait till
the eddy behind the shoal was reached, then great things would be
seen. Maybe the fish had not been lying in that first bit of current.

Hand over hand again, now! yes, certainly, _there_ is the right swirl!
What? a _losch_, that unclean semi-lizard! The boy tore it off and
flung it indignantly into the river. However, there was good luck in a
_losch_; that was well known.

But the next hook, and the next, and next, and next came up baited and
fishless. He pulled hand over hand quickly--not a fish! and he must
have gone over half the line! Little Baptiste stopped, with his heart
like lead and his arms trembling. It was terrible! Not a fish, and his
father had no supper, and there was no credit at the store. Poor
little Baptiste!

Again he hauled hand over hand--one hook, two, three--oh! ho!
Glorious! What a delightful sheer downward the rope took! Surely the
big sturgeon at last, trying to stay down on the bottom with the hook!
But Baptiste would show that fish his mistake. He pulled, pulled,
stood up to pull; there was a sort of shake, a sudden give of the
rope, and little Baptiste tumbled over backward as he jerked his line
up from under the big stone!

Then he heard the shutters clattering as Conolly's clerk took them off
the store window; at half-past five to the minute that was always
done. Soon big Baptiste would be up, that was certain. Again the boy
began hauling in line: baited hook! baited hook! naked hook! baited
hook!--such was still the tale.

"Surely, surely," implored little Baptiste, silently, "I shall find
some fish!" Up! up! only four remained! The boy broke down. Could it
be? Had he not somehow skipped many hooks? Could it be that there was
to be no breakfast for the children? Naked hook again! Oh, for some
fish! anything! three, two!

"Oh, send just one for my father!--my poor, hungry father!" cried
little Baptiste, and drew up his last hook. It came full baited, and
the line was out of the water clear away to his outer buoy!

He let go the rope and drifted down the river, crying as though his
heart would break. All the good hooks useless! all the labor thrown
away! all his self-confidence come to naught!

Up rose the great sun; from around the kneeling boy drifted the last
of the morning mists; bright b