THE CAMP-FOLLOWERS
"Better luck next time," thought I, as I threw my line for the second time, and fished and fished and fished and fished and fished. Yet, on pulling up the line, I found to my dismay that instead of better luck I had even worse, if that were possible, for the wretched bait had vanished from the hook. "Once more," thought I, as I dropped my line overboard for the third time, "and, fish or no fish, I must give it up, even though we all die of starvation." So I fished and fished and fished and fished and fished with all my might, and when at length I had hauled it in you may imagine my distress when I discovered that not merely was there no fish upon the line, but that the hook itself had disappeared. With tears of rage and disappointment I now gave it up and prepared to return, but I had not gone very far when I thought, "Shall I have just one more try even without hook or bait?" And not giving myself any time to think about it, I hurled my line out for the fourth time and fished and fished and fished and fished and fished and fished and fished as hard as I could, when fancying that I felt a nibble, I hauled it in as quickly as possible and found an old sardine-tin which had become entangled in the line.
'Hastily opening the tin, all I found therein was the head of an old sprat. "Alas!" said I to myself, "is this, after all my troubles, the only food I can take to my suffering father and hungering mother and brothers and sisters; better it would have been had
