The Fishing Permit
There was once a remarkably kind boy who was a great angler. There was a trout stream in his neighborhood that ran through a rich man’s estate. Permits to fish the stream could now and then be obtained, and the boy was lucky enough to have a permit.
One day he was fishing with another boy when a gamekeeper suddenly darted forth from a thicket. The lad with the permit uttered a cry of fright, dropped his rod, and ran off at top speed. The gamekeeper pursued.
For about half a mile the gamekeeper was led on a swift and difficult chase. Then, worn out, the boy halted. The man seized him by the arm and said between pants:
“Have you a permit to fish on this estate?”
“Yes, to be sure,” said the boy, quietly.
“You have? Then show it to me.”
The boy drew the permit from his pocket. The man examined it and frowned in perplexity and anger.
“Why did you run when you had this permit?” he asked.
“To let the other boy get away,” was the reply. “He didn’t have none!”
