"Oh, Daisy, Daisy! you ought to have lived hundreds of years
ago! You have me under command. Come," said he, kissing her
grave little face, "are all these things to go in here? Let me
help — and then we will go up stream."
He helped her with a delicate kind of observance which was not
like most boys of sixteen, and which Daisy fully relished. It
met her notions. Then she went to get her fishing-rod which
lay fallen into the water.
"Oh, Preston!" she exclaimed, "there is something on it! —
it's heavy! — it's a fish!"
"It _is_ a fish!" repeated Preston, as a jerk of Daisy's line
threw it out high and dry on the shore — "and what's more,
it's a splendid one. Daisy, you've done it now!"
"And papa will have it for breakfast! Preston, put it in a
pail of water till we come back. There's that tin pail — we
don't want it for anything — won't you. Oh, I have caught
one!"
It was done; and Daisy and Preston set off on a charming walk
up the brook; but though they tried the virtue of their bait
in various places, however it was, that trout was the only one
caught. Daisy thought it was a fine day's fishing.
They found Sam, sound and dry, mounting guard over the tin
pail when they came back to it.
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