DABNEY KINZER TRIES FRESH-WATER FISHING FOR THE FIRST TIME.
Conversation did not flourish at the supper-table that Friday evening.
There was a puzzled look on the faces of Mrs. Myers and her daughter,
and their three boarders seemed to be running a kind of race with each
other as to which of them should make out to be the most carefully
polite. As for poor Dick Lee, out there in the kitchen, the nearest he
came to breaking the silence was in a sort of smothered groan, and a
half-uttered determination to "git up good and early, an' dig dem
fellers de bes' worms dey is in de gardin."
There was talk enough in the room up stairs in the course of the
evening; but the door was closed, and there was no chance for any one in
the passage outside, no matter how silently he or she might go by, to
hear a distinct word of it.
"You see, boys," said Ford Foster, at the end of some extended remarks,
"I'm not at all mean or exacting. My father only pays Mrs. Myers three
dollars a week, and all she agreed to give was board. I can't expect her
to be any kind of an aunt, too, and let me go a-fishing. I'll take it
all off her hands, and let myself go."
"It's hard on Dick, though," said Dab, "and she's kind o' got the right
of it."
"I s'pose she has. But if he isn't earning all he gets, I'm mistaken.
Boys, if she puts any more work on him, what'll we do?"
"Eat," said Dab: "that's the only way we can make it up."
"We can't do it, Dab. Not unless the price of corn-meal goes up. Think
of eating another three dollars' worth of hasty-pudding every week!"
Their landlady came out in all her smiles at breakfast, and hoped they
would have good success with their fishing.
"Only," she added, "I'm not very fond of fish, and I never take the
trouble to clean them."
"We will try and catch ours ready cleaned, Mrs. Myers," said Ford. "Now,
boys, if you're ready, I am."
They were ready, bait and all, thanks to Dick; and the breakfast had
been an early one. Dab thanked Mrs. Myers for that, even while he wished
he had Ford Foster's tongue to do it with.
In fact, he had been noticing of late that his ideas came to him a
little slowly. Not but what he had plenty of them, but they seemed
disposed to crowd one another; so that whenever there was any thing to
be said in a hurry, Ford was sure to get ahead of him, and sometimes
even quiet Frank Harley.
"Must be I'm growing, somehow," he said to himself, "or I wouldn't be so
awkward."
The north road from Grantley led through a region that was, as the old
farmers said of it, "a-goin' back," and was less thickly peopled than it
had been two or three generations before. There had once been pretty
well cultivated farms all around some of the little lakes that were now
bordered by stout growths of forest; and the roads among the hills wore
a neglected look, many of them, as if it had ceased to profit anybody to
keep them in order.
There was "coming and going" over them, nevertheless; and the boys
managed to get a "lift" of nearly five miles in a farmer's wagon, so
that they reached the vicinity of Green Pond sooner than they had
expected, and with much less fatigue. The same farmer, in response to
anxious questioning by Dab, informed him,--
"Fish? Wall, ye-es. Nobody don't ketch 'em much nowadays. Time was when
they was pretty much all fished out, but I heerd there was some fellers
turned in a heap of seedlin' fish three or four year ago. Right away
arter that, my boys went over, and put in three days a hand runnin', but
they didn't get nothin' but pumpkin-seeds. Plenty of them yit, I
s'pose."
That was encouraging; but Ford at once remarked,--
"Pumpkin-seeds? A fine-looking fish, are they not? I know them. Somewhat
depressed, and extended laterally?"
"Guesso. You're 'tendin' school at the 'cadummy, ain't ye?"
"Yes, we're there."
"Thought so. Ye-es. We-ell, it's a good thing for the 'cadummy. Hope
you'll ketch some o' them seedlin' fish. Ef ye do, you kin jest stuff
'em with big words, and bake 'em. They do say as how fish is good for
the brains."
"Don't we turn off somewhere along here?" asked Dabney.
"Ye-es. Green Pond's right down there, through the woods. Not more'n a
mile. See't ye don't lose yer way. What bait have ye got?"
"Bait? Angle-worms. Are they the right thing?"
"Worms? Ye-es. They'll do. Somebody told ye, did they? 'Twon't take ye
long to larn how to put 'em on."
There was not a great deal to be made out of that old New-England
farmer; and his good-natured contempt for a lot of ignorant young "city
fellers," in good clothes, did not require any further expression.
They left him with a wide grin on his wrinkled face, and followed his
directions over the nearest fence; but with ideas concerning their
probable string of fish, that were rather "depressed" than "extended."
It was a long mile, but it did not contain any danger of getting lost;
and at the end of it they had quite enough of a surprise to pay them for
their trouble.
"Why, Ford, it's a beauty!"
"Dab, do you s'pose as nice a pond as that hasn't any thing in it but
pumpkin-seeds?"
"No boat that I can see," remarked Frank.
"We'll fish from the shore," said Dab. "There's a log that runs away out
in. Rocks too."
Rocks and trees and natural ruggedness all around, and some ten or a
dozen acres of clear, cold, beautiful water, with little brooks and
springs running into it, and a brook running out on the opposite shore
that would have to grow considerably before it would be fit for
mill-turning.
"Boys," said Dabney, "we've missed it!"
"How's that?" asked Ford.
"Put on the smallest hooks you've got, right away, and try for minnows.
There must be pickerel and bass here."
"Bass? Of course! Didn't he say something about seed-fish? That's what
they put in; and they weren't as big as pins when his boys came for
'em."
"Minnow-poles," as they called them, could be cut from the bushes at the
margin, and little fish could be taken at the same time that they were
trying for large ones. They found too, before long, that sometimes a
very respectable perch or bass would stoop to nibble at one of the
"elegant worms" with which Dick Lee had provided them.
"No turn of the tide to wait for here, Dab," said Ford, "and no crabs to
steal your bait off. Hey! There comes one. Perch! First game for my
hook."
"We'll stay till dark, but we'll get a good string. Frank, your cork's
under."
"Never fished with one before," said Frank. "I'll soon get the hang of
it."
That was a capital school for it, at all events; and they learned that
it might be a good thing for a little lake like that to have a bad
reputation.
"Fished out years ago. I understand now," said Dab.
"Understand what?"
"Why, those fellows in the village that sent me out here were playing a
joke on us,--a good deal like one of Joe and Fuz Hart's."
"Best kind of a joke. But if we tell about it when we get home, the
whole village'll be over here next week."
"Then we won't tell. Hurrah! I'll get him in. Steady, now. If he isn't a
two-pounder! see him run? Boys, this is going to be fun."
They did not neglect their minnow-catching; and before a great while
they were varying their bait, very much to their advantage. How they did
wish for a boat, so they could try the deeper water! They worked their
way along, from point to point, looking for the best spot, if such there
were; and Dabney at last found himself quite a distance ahead of his
companions.
"Boys! Ford! Frank! A boat! Come on!"
Lying behind the trunk of a tree that had fallen into the water,--not
much of a boat, to be sure, and without any oars or even rowlocks; but
when the water was tipped out of it, and it was shoved in again, it
actually floated.
"Careful, Ford," said Dab. "Remember Dick Lee. The old thing may come to
pieces. It wasn't made yesterday."
"Look's as if Christopher Columbus owned it, and forgot just where he
left it. We can paddle with pieces of bark, as far out as we need go."
Now the fun was doubled; and some of the pickerel they pulled in
reminded Dabney of small blue-fish, while the bass and perch were every
way as respectable as ordinary porgies and black-fish, except for size.
He had even to confess that the sea itself contained a great many small
fish, and that he had often had much poorer luck in his own beloved bay.
The boat was a great acquisition; but when they were paddling ashore for
the fourth time, "to turn her over and let the water out," Dabney
remarked,--
"It's after dinner-time, boys. Could either of you fellows eat any
thing?"
"Eat?" said Frank. "I'd forgotten that. Yes, let's have lunch. But
there's more cold johnny-cake than any thing else in the basket."
"There's plenty of salt and pepper though; and it won't take any time at
all to make a fire, and broil some fish. Didn't you ever go on a
chowder-party, and do your own cooking?"
"No, I never did."
"Nor I," said Ford very reluctantly. "Can we do it?"
"Do it? I'll show you. No kettle. We'll have to broil. You fellows make
a fire, while I clean some of these fish."
It was every bit as good fun as catching those fish, to cook them there
on the shore of that lovely little lake. Dabney did know all about it,
as became a "'longshore boy;" and he took a particular pride in showing
Ford and Frank how many different ways there were of cooking a fish
without an oven or a kettle or a gridiron.
It was another fine point to discover, after they had eaten all they
could, including the cold johnny-cake, that they did not seem to have
made their strings of fish look perceptibly smaller.
"Tell you what, boys," said Dabney: "next time we come out we'll bring a
hammer and nails, and some oakum, and I'll calk up that old punt so
she'll float well enough. Only it won't do to dance in her."
"Then," said Ford, "I move we don't try her again to-day. If we've got
to carry all these fish, it'll be a long pull home. We're not half sure
of catching another ride."
"We can pole our fish, though, and make it easy carrying."
"How's that?"
"I'll show you. Cut two poles, hang your strings half way, shoulder the
poles, and take turns carrying. One boy getting rested, all the while,
and no cords cutting your hands."
That was as sensible as if his own mother had told him; and it was a
good thing he thought of it, for they did not "catch a ride" till they
were half way home. All the wagons were coming the other way, of course,
on Saturday afternoon; but the one chat then caught up with them had
been carrying a new stove home, and was returning empty.
"Fine strings of fish," remarked the stove-man as they clambered in.
"Where'd you catch 'em?"
"Over in one of the lakes."
"Did ye though? You don't say! Guess I know the place. You must have had
an all-killin' walk, though. I declare! I'm goin' to try that pond first
day I get away."
"Want some of these?"
"Wouldn't rob ye,--but you've got a-plenty--that pickerel? Thank ye,
now. Oh!--and the bass tew? You're good fellers."
He seemed to be another; and Dab warned him at parting, that, "when he
wanted to get a string of fish, if he'd come to him he'd tell him just
where to go."
"All right. Glad I had the luck to ketch up with ye."
"Dab," said Ford as they reached the outskirts of Grantley, "I know it's
late; but we must walk through the village with these fish, if it's only
to have the whole town ask us where we caught them."
"That's so. I'm rested now too. Let's get right out."
They were nearly at the southerly end of the village, and there was
quite a walk before them.
"Dab," said Frank, "we've more fish than we'll need at our house, if we
have 'em for breakfast and dinner both."
"I've been thinking of that. Let's vote on it now. What do you say? One
string for the minister?"
"Yes," said Ford, "a bass for Mr. Fallow, a small pickerel for Mrs.
Fallow, and a perch or a pumpkin-seed for each of the six little
Fallows."
"All right; and that big pickerel I caught, for Dr. Brandegee, and the
biggest bass in the lot to keep it company. Let's make him up a prime
good mess."
"One that'll stand an examination," said Ford.