He was pulling the bass to and
fro now through the water, tiring him out--drowning him--stepping
backward at the same time, and, a moment later, the fish slid
easily out of the edge of the water, gasping along the edge of a
low sand-bank, and the fisherman reaching down with one hand
caught him in the gills. Then he looked up and smiled--and she had
seen no smile like that before.
"Howdye, Little Girl?"
One bare toe went burrowing suddenly into the sand, one finger
went to her red mouth--and that was all. She merely stared him
straight in the eye and he smiled again.
"Cat got your tongue?"
Her eyes fell at the ancient banter, but she lifted them
straightway and stared again.
"You live around here?"
She stared on.
"Where?"
No answer.
"What's your name, little girl?"
And still she stared.
"Oh, well, of course, you can't talk, if the cat's got your
tongue."
The steady eyes leaped angrily, but there was still no answer, and
he bent to take the fish off his hook, put on a fresh minnow,
turned his back and tossed it into the pool.
"Hit hain't!"
He looked up again. She surely was a pretty little thing--and
more, now that she was angry.
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