The boats had hardly reached their positions—­two on each side of the stream—­when a shout from the Professor announced a catch, as hand over hand he cautiously drew in the swerving line or held it taut, as the diving fish sought the rocky bottom or the friendly refuge of a log drift.  With unvarying stroke Tim kept his boat in deep water, away from entangling dangers.  There was a flash in the air and a jingle of the troll, as a fine bass shot out of the water to shake the barbs from his open mouth; but the hooks held firm, and the taut line foiled the effort to dislodge them.  Down came the fish with a splash, to dart for the boat at lightning speed and leap again for life; but this time no jingle of troll announced his game.  He leaped ahead to fall upon the line and thus tear the hooks from their hold.  Successful fishing depends upon two things,—­the presence of fish and knowing more than fish do.  At the instant of the fish’s leap the Professor slackened his line:  down came the bass on a limber loop, defeated in his strategy and wearied by his effort, to be hauled quickly to the boat’s side and landed, wriggling and tossing, at Tim Price’s feet.

“You’ve cotched bass afore, Perfesser.  You ez up to their ways ez a mus’rat to a mussel, er a kingfisher to a minner,” exclaimed Tim admiringly, as he loosened the troll from a two-pound bass.  “Hit’s p’intedly a pity you’re out uv your head ’bout picters.”

“Oh, I have one!  I have one!—­a fish!  What kind is it?” screamed Bess Bangem, who was the Professor’s companion, as her light trout-pole bent from a sudden tug, and the reel whirred as the line ran off.

“Stop him, hold on to him, wind him in, and I will tell you,” answered the Professor, laughing.

Bess was a practised hand, and loved the sport; but, woman-like, she always paused to wonder what she had caught before proceeding to find out.

“It will be the subject of a lecture for you, whatever it is,” replied Bess, with a saucy shake of her head, as she wound in the line and guided the playing fish with well-managed pole.  Her fine face flushed with the excitement of the run and leap of her prey, as it came nearer and nearer, until Tim slipped the landing-net quietly under it and landed a beauty in the boat.

“Poor fellow!  I wonder if I hurt him?” said Bess.

“Not much, if any,” remarked the Professor.  “I never was a fish, and consequently never was foolish enough to jump at a bunch of hooks; but, as the cartilage of a fish’s mouth is almost nerveless, there is but little pain from a hook diet.  Bass, salmon, pike, and other gamey fish will often keep on biting after they have been badly hooked.”

“So will men,” said Bess, as she threw her troll into the water to do fresh duty.

“You’re p’intedly keerect,” said Tim Price.  “I got the sack four times, an’ hed right smart mittens, afore I cotched a stayin’ holt on my old woman.”

Shout after shout waked the mountain-echoes, as fish were held up in triumph, and as the boats glided over the smooth water of the eddy.  Ahead was a mass of foam and a long dash of water down a shoal.