How the pole bent! How the line hissed as it went rushing through the water out among the spinning bubbles! What a splash as the big fish in his coat of many colors broke through the ripples and rose aloft and fell at my feet throwing a spray all over me as he came down! That was the way they fished in those days.
They angled with a stout pole of seasoned tamarack and no reel, and catching a fish was like breaking a colt to halter.
While he was fishing Mr.Wright slipped off the rock he stood on and sank shoulder deep in the water.

I ran and held out my hand crying loudly.

Uncle Peabody helped him ashore with his pole.

Tears were flowing down my cheeks while I stood sobbing in a kind of juvenile hysterics.
"What's the matter ?" Uncle Peabody demanded.
"I was 'fraid--Mr.Wright--was goin' to be drownded," I managed to say.
The Comptroller shook his arms and came and knelt by my side and kissed me.
"God bless the dear boy!" he exclaimed.

"It's a long time since any one cried for me.