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.