The Project Gutenberg EBook of Fishin' Jimmy, by Annie Trumbull Slosson

This eBook is for the use of anyone anywhere at no cost and with
almost no restrictions whatsoever. You may copy it, give it away or
re-use it under the terms of the Project Gutenberg License included
with this eBook or online at www.gutenberg.net

Title: Fishin' Jimmy

Author: Annie Trumbull Slosson

Release Date: May 23, 2004 [EBook #12417]

Language: English

Character set encoding: ASCII

*** START OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK FISHIN' JIMMY ***

Produced by Al Haines

FISHIN' JIMMY

BY

ANNIE TRUMBULL SLOSSON

AUTHOR'S EDITION

1889

FISHIN' JIMMY

It was on the margin of Pond Brook, just back of Uncle Eben's, that
I first saw Fishin' Jimmy. It was early June, and we were again at
Franconia, that peaceful little village among the northern hills.

The boys, as usual, were tempting the trout with false fly or real
worm, and I was roaming along the bank, seeking spring flowers, and
hunting early butterflies and moths. Suddenly there was a little
plash in the water at the spot where Ralph was fishing, the slender
tip of his rod bent, I heard a voice cry out, "Strike him, sonny,
strike him!" and an old man came quickly but noiselessly through
the bushes, just as Ralph's line flew up into space, with, alas! no
shining, spotted trout upon the hook. The new comer was a spare,
wiry man of middle height, with a slight stoop in his shoulders, a
thin brown face, and scanty gray hair. He carried a fishing-rod,
and had some small trout strung on a forked stick in one hand. A
simple, homely figure, yet he stands out in memory just as I saw
him then, no more to be forgotten than the granite hills, the
rushing streams, the cascades of that north country I love so well.

We fell into talk at once, Ralph and Waldo rushing eagerly into
questions about the fish, the bait, the best spots in the stream,
advancing their own small theories, and asking advice from their
new friend. For friend he seemed even in that first hour, as he
began simply, but so wisely, to teach my boys the art he loved.
They are older now, and are no mean anglers, I believe; but they
look back gratefully to those brookside lessons, and acknowledge
gladly their obligations to Fishin' Jimmy. But it is not of these
practical teachings I would now speak; rather of the lessons of
simple faith, of unwearied patience, of self-denial and