"I mos' knowed ye was on'y a-tryin' me when ye said that 'bout how I had n't been a fisher o' men, nor even boys, on'y a dog. 'T was a--fishin' dog--ye know--an' ye was allers dreffle good to fishermen,--dreffle good to--everybody; died--for 'em, did n't ye?-- "Please wait--on--the bank there, a minnit; I 'm comin' 'crost. Water 's pretty--cold this--spring--an' the stream 's risin'--but--I--can--do it;--don't ye mind--'bout me, sir. I 'll get acrost." Once more the voice ceased, and we thought we should not hear it again this side that stream. But suddenly a strange light came over the thin face, the soft gray eyes opened wide, and he cried out, with the strong voice we had so often heard come ringing out to us across the mountain streams above the sound of their rushing: "Here I be, sir! It 's Fishin' Jimmy, ye know, from Francony way; him ye useter call James when ye come 'long the shore o' the pond an' I was a-fishin.' I heern ye agin, jest now--an' I--straightway--f'sook--my--nets--an'--follered--" Had the voice ceased utterly? No, we could catch faint, low murmurs and the lips still moved. But the words were not for us; and we did not know when he reached the other bank. End of the Project Gutenberg EBook of Fishin' Jimmy, by Annie Trumbull Slosson