FARMER BROWN’S BOY HAS NO LUCK
Oh, who would not a-fishing go—a-fishing go—a-fishing go?
Oh, who would not a-fishing go all on a summer’s day?
Oh, who would not a-fishing go—a-fishing go—a-fishing go?
Oh, who would not a-fishing go where fishes sport and play?
_Little Joe Otter._
Farmer Brown’s boy with his rod and a can of worms was making his way to
the Laughing Brook. He felt good all over, did Farmer Brown’s boy. He
felt good because it was the kind of a day to make any one feel good.
And he felt good because it was a holiday for him and he knew that he
had earned it. He had worked hard in the hayfield for days and days, and
in the cornfield and in the garden, and never once had he complained.
You see, he knew that the work just had to be done. That morning at
breakfast Farmer Brown had given him a surprise. It was such a splendid
surprise! He had told him that that day was to be his very own in which
to do just what he wanted to do. Do you wonder that he felt good all
over?
The very first thing he thought of was fishing. He just _knew_ that the
speckled trout were waiting for him to catch them. And now he was on his
way with a lunch in his pocket and joy in his heart, so much joy that it
was bubbling out in the merriest of whistles. As he made his way through
the Green Forest to the Laughing Brook, it seemed to him that all the
little people he saw by the way were glad because he was glad.
Now there was a certain quiet pool deep in the Green Forest where Farmer
Brown’s boy was certain he would find hungry trout. He hadn’t the
smallest doubt of it. More than once he had looked down in that clear
pool and seen big trout there, and he was sure he would find them there
now. So he headed straight for this particular pool. When he was near
enough he put a fat worm on his hook and dropped it in the water. He
didn’t doubt that it would be taken at once by a fat, hungry, speckled
trout.
“I ought to catch at least three in this pool,” said he to himself, and
waited, keeping perfectly still. Nothing happened. Farmer Brown’s boy
moved the bait about in the most enticing way he knew how, and still
nothing happened. He didn’t get so much as a nibble.
“This is queer,” muttered Farmer Brown’s boy. “I never have had to wait
so long for a bite in this pool before.” He continued to keep perfectly
still, as a good fisherman should, and waited patiently. Still there
wasn’t a nibble. Presently, having nothing else to do, he began to take
note of things, the trees, the flowers, the humming insects and at last
the opposite bank, which was steep and smooth.
“Looks as if something had been sliding down there,” he muttered.
“Wonder what it could have been. Funny the trout don’t bite. I hate to
give up, but guess I’ll have to. I’ll go down to the next pool and try
my luck there.”
So he trudged down to the next pool and a pair of sharp eyes watched him
go. They were the eyes of Sammy Jay, and Sammy was chuckling under his
breath. You see, he knew why Farmer Brown’s boy had caught no fish. The
pool which he had just left was the very pool in the bank of which
Little Joe Otter and Mrs. Otter had their home, and now there were no
fat trout there. Little Joe and Mrs. Joe had caught all of them. They
are especially fond of trout.
But Farmer Brown’s boy knew nothing of this. In fact, he knew very
little about Little Joe Otter anyway. So he trudged on, sure that he
would have better luck in the next pool. Sammy Jay followed, still
chuckling. He seemed to find something a great joke.
“There are smarter fishermen in this brook than you, and I wouldn’t give
much for all the fish you will catch,” he remarked to no one in
particular. But he was looking at Farmer Brown’s boy, who still had no
luck.