Jasper County Democrat, Volume 13, Number 76, Rensselaer, Jasper County, 7 January 1911 — PHOEBE’S CATCH. [ARTICLE+ILLUSTRATION]

PHOEBE’S CATCH.

A Fishing Trip That Had Most Satisfactory Results. . By CLARISSA MACKIE. I (Copyright, 1910, by American Press Asso- ■ elation.) There was a tinge of autumn in the air, although the calendar still showed its September page. Here and there on the hillsides a tree flamed out, herald of Jack Frpst. The bay wrinkled crisply into white capped waves, and over all was the odor of ripe grapes, sweet cider and burning leaves. Phoebe Allen leaned over the gate and drank in the sweetness of the air and looked at the blue and white water and saw the flaming tree. " “Smells frosty," she sniffed delicately. “I’m always mighty glad when winter gomes around. It's the coziest time of the year. Wish I knew which way the wind was blowing.” Her pleasant face wrinkled in a frown as she tried to peer around the corner of Captain Amos Dodge’s new house. All her life she had been wont to see the weather vane on the peak of Channing’s barn, and now that Cap-

tain Amos’ house had interjiosed its bulk Phoebe felt personally aggrieved. She had even approached the doughty captain and laid her complaint before him. “I never can tell what the weather's going to be without seeing that vane," she said. “I’ll put one up on my cupola,” promised the captain affably. “I won’t look at it—probably it’ll not be good for anything," said Miss Phoebe peevishly, and so she went home. Captain Amos and Phoebe had known each other ail their lives: they had gone to school together, and they had attended merrymakings as they grew older. Phoebe had danced boles in her slippers under the skillful guidance of Amos Dodge, and Amos had been caught by his father while concocting a love letter to Phoebe, ani an incipient romance had been destroyed. Amos had run away from his motherless home, and, Phoebe had forgotten all about him until years afterward, when his father was dead and buried, he came home a childless widower and built a house on the brow of the hill beyond Phoebe's solitary cottage. There had been no sentiment about their meeting. Their first words had been a disagreement about the weather vane, and neither had recovered. Now Phoebe craned her soft round throat in a vain endeavor to learn the direction of the wind. A barefoot boy whistled past, a fishing red over his shoulder and a can of bait dangling from his hand. “Where you going, Hennje?” asked Miss Phoebe. “After blues—they're running down in the channel,” returned the boy. “Which way’s the wind ?” asked Phoebe. , “I dunno,” said Rennie stupidly. “Don't make no difference about wind. The tide’s cbming in, and the blues are running hi with it.” “I' believe I'll go and get some for my supp» r. it's too fine a day to stay in. Hennie, I'll give you a nickel if you'll get me some bait. What you got there?” - • “Mummies.” “Want to sell 'em?’ “I don’t mind.” “I’ll take’em. Wait a minute.” After the transaction was concluded Phoebe ran back to the cottage and donned an ancient skirt and knitted jacket. On her -head- she tied a pink sunbonnet and over her feet she drew rubber overshoes. She packed a small basket of lunch, fed the cat, hunted a rod and line from the woodshed, locked up the cottage and scurried down to her little boathouse on the beach below. Presently she was rowing slowly out toward the harbor's mouth, where little boats were dotted about laden with eager fishermen, for bluefish were running plentifully. ( Phoebe’s bright brown eyes had discovered a more isolated spot jvhere she had learned by experience that the current ran swiftly and where excellent luck might be had. This was between the breakwater and tbe long sand spit that became\an island when the tide was high. It was fast becoming an island now, and save for one lone fisherman the little channel was quite deserted, for

there was exciting sport in the harbor’s mouth. Such a clever little sailor woman as Phoebe Aliens found no difficulty in getting her boat into the right position, dropping her anchor overboard and preparing for sport. The lone fisherman proved to be her especial abhorrence, Captain Amos, and and as his broad back was turned to her and his great flapping hat quite covered the back of his head he was recognizable only by his size and the dainty lines of his new boat One, two, three, into the boat they flopped, little silver beauties. Phoebe’s cheeks grew pink with excitement as she pulled them in. Enough for her own supper at- first and then supplemented by others there were enough for gifts to various fishless neighbors. It so happened that Captain Amos was fishing with a rod, and so was Phoebe Allen. It is an awkward way to catch fish from a small boat, but Phoebe loved to see the silver booty come swinging through the air into her craft, and it was also Captain Amos’ farorite method. At last Phoebe impaled her last bit of bait and swung the line overboard. It jerked forward, and she felt the weight of a captured fish. As she pulled in the pole flew up, and the baiiless book sailed over her head and caught neatly in the slack of Captain Amos’ shirt between his broad shoulders. It caught and stayed there. • Almost in the same instant Captain Amos lost his bait in tbe same way, and his J)ole performed the same upward leap, his line flew oyer, and the hook imbedded itself in the woolly intricacies of Phoebe's knitted jacket. '. Then Captain Amos, feeling the point of the book in his tender flesh, yelled murderously. “Woman!” he threatened, turning his head as far around as pain Would permit. “Man!’ snapped back Miss Phoebe, straining at her pole and against the captainshock. “What in tarnation” — sputtered Amos, groaning. “Woman, you have killed me.” “Keep still, do,” said Phoebe impatiently. “You’ve gone and caught yourself in my hook It was the last one I had. If you’d reach around you might get it out.” “Get out nothing! Do you understand the English language?” asked Captain Amos, with deadly calm. “Of course I do." “Then listen. Your hook is caught in my. skin —s-k-i-n—skin, and I’m bleeding to death. If you’ll have the goodness to look around and see what damage you’ve done,” suggested the captain savagely. “Perhaps you’ll look around and see what you’ve done,” said Phoebe crossly. She craned Her neck and looked around at the captain’s back, which the point of her fish hook barely pricked. At the same moment Captain Amos peered around to see his own hook caught in his neighbor’s jacket. Something in the ridiculous situation broke the icy crust of years of separation; it recalled another day when, as children, they had fished for minnows in the millpond and, sitting together in the old green boat that had belonged to Phoebe’s father, they had hooked each other quite as neatly as they had done today. - “Amos Dodge, you little ninny!” cried Phoebe in the same teasing words she had used on that former occasion thirty-five years ago. “Girls don’t know how to fish,” retorted Amos as he had done in that other day. “Does that hook hurt, Amos?” asked Phoebe. “Not much,” admitted the captain, twisting his neck around to look into Phoebe’s sunbonnet. “Your boat’s drifting a little, Phoebe. Don’t get any farther away from me,” he said in a queer voice. “I won’t,” said Phoebe gently, “Just wait a minute, Amos, while I slip off this jacket—there! Now I’m free of your hook I’ll help you. Wait, now, till I get my boat over.” By dint of careful maneuvering Phoebe ran her boat near enough to the other to lean over and touch tbe hook. It fell out at her touch. “I was afraid the point might have caught, but it’s all right, captain”— “Amos,” said the captain briskly. “I wasn’t any captain when I knew you.” “Amos,” repeated Phoebe obediently, “I hope it didn't hurt you.” “Not a mite, Phoebe. To tell the truth”— He reddened and looked doubtfully at bis old sweetheart. “Tell it,” commanded Phoebe in her old imperious way. “I caught, you on purpose,” confessed the captain. “Why?” blushed Phoebe. “Whatever”— “Just to get acquainted again. You hgve been as stiff as a ramrod ever since I came home again and”— “Tide’s turning,” said Phoeme from the dept' s of her pink sunbonnet. “I’ve got lunch to eat:” “So’ve I,” returned the captain promptly. “Let’s go ashore and have a picnic.” 1

“Let’s,” said Phoebe. That night when they trudged up the hill swinging their strings of silvery fish somebody saw them and said: “Well, if Phoebe Allen ain’t caught Captain Amos at last!” Somebody else saw them and said, “Land sakes, if Captain Amos ain’t caught Phoebe Allen, after' all!” And just then Captain Amos was saying. “When you get over to the big house with me. Phoebe, there won’t be anything to shut off your view of the weathei vane.” “I guess there won’t be anything to' obstruct my happiness either,” sighed Phoebe contentedly. It is well that there is no accounting for tastes. We have plenty of sins for which to account

IT FELL OUT AT HEB TOUCH.