CHAPTER XVIII
FISHING.
The morning sunshine lay like shining silver on the placid bosom of beautiful Lake Sebasticook. Not a cloud hung in the blue sky, and it was a perfect summer morning, for the sun was not yet high enough to make the air uncomfortably warm.
Near the mouth of a stream that empties into the northern end of the lake floated a canoe that contained two persons who were fishing. The occupants of the canoe were Frank Merriwell and Bart Hodge. In the bottom of the canoe lay more than a dozen large white perch, glittering in the sunlight. That they were a fresh catch was evident, for they had not lost their silvery luster, and occasionally some of them flopped about in a frantic endeavor to get back into the water.
“Well, they are beauties!” cried Hodge, as he gazed at them in admiration; “and we did rope them in fast for a few minutes.”
“That’s what we did,” nodded Frank. “I wonder why they stopped biting so suddenly.”
“Don’t know. What are those splashes on the water over that way?”
“I know!” exclaimed Frank, suddenly beginning to reel in his line with great swiftness. “Pull in, Hodge—pull in!”
“What for?”
“Don’t ask questions! Pull in!”
Bart obeyed, and the boys quickly reeled their lines.