anced toward shore to look for shelter--I remembered an overhanging
ledge of rock--then my line went taut! I forgot about shelter, forgot about
being chilly; I knew it was a good bass.

I got him in--too big to go through the hole in my creel--cast for
another--and another--and yet another. The rain began to fall in sheets, and
the wind nearly blew me over, but who could run away from such fishing?
The surface of the river, deep blue-gray, seemed rising everywhere in
little jets to meet the rain. Rapids, eddies, still waters, weedy edges,
all looked alike; there were neither waves nor swirls nor glassy slicks,
but all were roughly furry under the multitudinous assaults of the fierce
rain-drops. The sky was mottled lead-color, the wind blew less strongly,
but cold--cold. And under that water the bass were biting, my rod was
bending double, my reel softly screaming as I gave line, and one after
another I drew the fish alongside and dipped them out with my landing net.

Then, as suddenly as they had begun, they stopped biting. I waited long
minutes; nothing happened, and all at once I realized that I was very wet
and very cold. Wading ashore, I saw Jonathan shivering along up the narrow
beach toward me, his shoulders drawn in to half their natural spread, neck
tucked in between his collar-bones, knees slightly bent.

"You can't be cold?" I questioned as soon as he was near enough to hear me
through the slash of the rain and wind.

"No, of course not; are you?"

We didn't discuss it, but ran up the bank to the rock-ledge and crouched
under it, our teeth literally chattering.

"Did you ever see such fishing?" I managed to stammer.

"Great! But oh, _why_ didn't I bring the whiskey bottle?"

"Let's run for camp! We can't be wetter."

We crawled out into the rain again, and first sprinted and then
dog-trotted along the river edge. No bird notes now in the woods beside
us, no whirring of wings; only the rain sounds: soft swishings and
drippings and gusty showerings, very different from the flat, flicking
sounds when rain first starts in dry woods.

Camp looked a little cheerless, but a blazing fire, started with dry stuff
we had stowed inside the tent, changed things, and dry clothes changed
them still more, and we sat within the tent flaps and ate ginger-snaps in
great contentment of spirit while we waited for the rain to stop.

It did stop, and very soon the fish were sizzling in the pan.

"Of course, if we had a w