COLONEL ASHLEY STILL stood, holding his now useless rod and line, gazing first at that, then at Shag and, anon, at the little swirl of the waters, marking where the big fish had disappeared from view.
“Shag!” exclaimed the colonel in an ominously, quiet voice.
“Yes, sah!”
“Do you know what that was?”
“No, sab, Colonel, I don’t.”
“Well, that was a spirit manifestation of Izaak Walton. It was jealous of my success and took that revenge. It was the spirit of the old fisherman himself.”
“Good land ob massy!” gasped Shag. “Does yo’—does yo’ mean a—ghost?”
“You might call it that, Shag. Yes, a ghost.”
The colored man looked frightened for a moment, and then a broad grin spread over his face.
“Well, sah, Colonel,” he began, deferentially, “maybe yo’ kin call it dat, but hit looks t’ me m
