pole into the mud and
fastened his boat to it.

Then he settled himself
cross-legged and arranged his
fishing tackle. He had the
dearest little red float. His
rod was a tough stalk of
grass, his line was a fine long
white horse-hair, and he tied
a little wriggling worm at the
end.

THE rain trickled down his
back, and for nearly an
hour he stared at the float.

"This is getting tiresome,
I think I should like some
lunch," said Mr. Jeremy
Fisher.

HE punted back again
amongst the water-
plants, and took some lunch
out of his basket.

"I will eat a butterfly
sandwich, and wait till the
shower is over," said Mr.