’What makes ’em holler?’ I asked.

‘O, they’re jes’ filin’ their saws an’ thinkin’.  Mebbe tellin’ o’ what’s happened ’em.  Been a hard day fer them little folks.  Terrible flood in their country.  Everyone on em hed t’ git up a steeple quick ’she could er be drownded.  They hev their troubles an’ they talk ’bout ‘em, too.’

‘What do they file their saws for?’ I enquired.

‘Well, ye know,’ said he, ‘where they live the timber’s thick an’ they hev hard work clearin’ t’ mek a home.’

I was getting too sleepy for further talk.  He made his way from field to field, stopping sometimes to look off at the distant mountains then at the sky or to whack the dry stalks of mullen with his cane.  I remember he let down some bars after a long walk and stepped into a smooth roadway.  He stood resting a little while, his basket on the top bar, and then the moon that I had been watching went down behind the broad rim of his hat and I fell into utter forgetfulness.  My eyes opened on a lovely scene at daylight Uncle Eb had laid me on a mossy knoll in a bit of timber and through an opening right in front of us I could see a broad level of shining water, and the great green mountain on the further shore seemed to be up to its belly in the sea.

‘Hello there!’ said Uncle Eb; ‘here we are at Lake Champlain.’

I could hear the fire crackling and smell the odour of steeping tea.

’Ye flopped ‘round like a fish in thet basket,’ said Uncle Eb. ’’Guess ye must a been drearnin’ O’ bears.  Jumped so ye scairt me.  Didn’t know but I had a wil’ cat on my shoulders.’

Uncle Eb had taken a fish-line out of his pocket and was tying it to a rude pole that he had cut and trinmed with his jack-knife.

‘I’ve found some crawfish here,’ he said, ‘an’ I’m goin’ t’ try fer a bite on the p’int O’ rocks there.’

‘Goin’ t’ git some fish, Uncle Eb?’ I enquired.

‘Wouldn’t say’t I was, er wouldn’t say’t I wasn’t,’ he answered.  ’Jes goin’ t’ try.’

Uncle Eb was always careful not to commit himself on a doubtful point.  He had fixed his hook and sinker in a moment and then we went out on a rocky point nearby and threw off into the deep water.  Suddenly Uncle Eb gave a jerk that brought a groan out of him and then let his hook go down again, his hands trembling, his face severe.

‘By mighty!  Uncle Eb,’ he muttered to himself, ’I thought we hed him thet time.’

He jerked again presently, and then I could see a tug on the line that made me jump.  A big fish came thrashing into the air in a minute.  He tried to swing it ashore, but the pole bent and the fish got a fresh hold of the water and took the end of the pole under.  Uncle Eb gave it a lift then that brought it ashore and a good bit of water with it.  I remember how the fish slapped me with its wet tail and sprinkled my face shaking itself between my boots.  It was a big bass and in a little while we had three of them.  Uncle Eb dressed them and laid them over the fire on a gridiron of green birch, salting them as they cooked.  I remember they went with a fine relish and the last of our eggs and bread and butter went with them.