The Fisher and the Little Fish

All day the fisher sat on the river bank. The sun climbed up and the sun slid down. His back ached, his feet went numb, and still nothing bit.

Then, just as the light began to fade, he felt one small tug. He pulled in his line, and on the end of it hung a fish no longer than his thumb.

"Please, master, let me go," said the fish, wriggling in his hand. "Look at me. I am far too small for your supper. Put me back in the river and I will soon grow. I will grow long and I will grow fat, and then you can catch me again and have a fine meal."

The fisher looked at the tiny fish. He looked at the wide, dark river, rolling on and on.

"No, no, my little fish," he said. "I have you now. I may not catch you again."