"The bushes around the old spring hole are pretty thick, and I long ago ceased to see any fun in getting drenched for the sake of catching a mess of half-pound trout. If they were salmon, now, the case would be different."
Nevertheless Uncle Joe seemed to be in just as great a hurry to eat his breakfast and be off as his nephew was. Ten minutes sufficed to satisfy their appetites, and in ten minutes more we were on the outskirts of the village, and moving up an old log road toward the spring hole, where I was to make my first attempt to take a fish. I dreaded the ordeal, for I did not have as much confidence in myself as I would have had if my master had not spoken so slightingly of me.
How far it was from the village to the spring hole, I am sure I don't know. It seemed like a long journey to me, although it was enlivened by stories of travel and adventure from Uncle Joe, in which I became deeply interested. Presently Joe, who was leading the way, pushed aside the bushes in front of him, disclosing to view a small body of water fringed with lily-pads and surrounded on all sides by
