When we had dug our worms and were on our way to the brook with pole and line a squint of elation had hold of Uncle Eb's face.

Long wrinkles deepened as he looked into the sky for a sign of the weather, and then relaxed a bit as he turned his eyes upon the smooth sward.

It was no time for idle talk.

We tiptoed over the leafy carpet of the woods.

Soon as I spoke he lifted his hand with a warning 'Sh--h!' The murmur of the stream was in our ears.