“Not one yet, Preston!” she exclaimed.

“Not a bite,” said Preston.

“I hadn’t either.”

“I don’t believe that there are any fish,” said Preston.

“O but Sam said he saw lots of them.”

“Lots of them!  It’s the flies then.  Sam!—­Hollo, Sam!—­Sam!—­”

“Here, sir,” said Sam, coming up the brook.

“Just find me some worms, will you?—­and be spry.  I can’t get a bite.”

Daisy sat down to look about her, while Preston drew in his line and threw the fly away.  It was a pretty place!  The brook spread just there into a round pool several feet across, deep and still; and above it the great trees towered up as if they would hide the sun.  Sam came presently with the bait.  Preston dressed his hook, and gave his line a swing, to cast the bait into the pool; rather incautiously, seeing that the trees stood so thick and so near.  Accordingly the line lodged in the high branches of an oak on the opposite side of the pool.  Neither was there any coaxing it down.

“What a pity!” said Daisy.

“Not at all,” said Preston.  “Here, Sam—­just go up that tree and clear the line—­will you?”

Sam looked at the straight high stem of the oak, which had shot up high before it put forth a single branch, and he did not like the job.  His slow motions said so.

“Come!” said Preston,—­“be alive and do it quick, will you?”

“He can’t—­” said Daisy.

“Yes he can,” said Preston.  “If he can’t he isn’t worth his bread and salt.  That’s it, Sam—­hand over hand, and you’ll be there directly.”

Sam shewed what he could do, if he did not like it; for he worked himself up the tall tree like a monkey.  It was not so large but he could clasp it; so after a little rough work on his part and anxious watching on Daisy’s, he got to the branches.  But now the line was caught in the small forks at the leafy end of the branch.  Sam lay out upon it as far as he dared; he could not reach the line.

“O he’ll fall!” cried Daisy softly.  “O Preston, let him come down!—­he can’t get it.”

“He’ll come to no harm,” said Preston coolly.  “A little further, Sam—­it’s oak wood, it will hold you; a little further, and you will have it—­a little further!—­”

And Daisy saw that Sam had gone too far.  The bough swayed,—­Sam made a lunge after the line, lost his hold, and the next minute his dark body was falling through the air and splashed into the pool.  The water flew all over the two fishers who stood by its side; Preston awe-struck for the moment, Daisy white as death.  But before either of them could speak or move, Sam’s head reappeared above water.

“O get him out! get him out, Preston!” was Daisy’s distressed cry.  Preston spoke nothing, but he snatched a long stick that lay near and held it out to Sam; and so in a few minutes drew him to the shore and helped him out.  Sam went to a little distance and stood dripping with water from head to foot; he did not shake himself as a Newfoundland dog would have done.