So she had, but the fish that had felt "as big as a rabbit" proved so tiny that Mr. Black put him back to grow; and the apparently unconcerned little trout made a dart for Marjory's hook. He seemed so determined to be caught by somebody—it didn't matter who—that Dave dug a little pool in the sand for him.
"Stay dere," ordered Dave, "till dose beeg brodder of you ees have som' chance for got caught."
"I don't think I want to fish," said tender-hearted Jean. "I'd rather look. Every time I take a step I see a new picture—I'd like to keep all my eyes for the scenery."
"So would I," declared Bettie, pulling in her line. "Let's just dawdle along together somewhere out of reach of Mabel's hook—Goodness! Look at Henrietta putting on her own bait!"
"I did it, too," bragged Marjory. "I couldn't wait for Dave—it's such fun to see a trout dart out from under the bank and grab your worm and run away with it."
"You must give a little jerk," instructed Mr. Black. "Just like that."
"Just like this," added Mabel. But Mabel's fish proved to be a log, so amid much laughter, Dave provided her with a fresh hook.
For several wonderful hours, the happy castaways waded and fished. Never in all their wanderings had they encountered anything as beautiful as the overhanging trees, the fern-fringed banks, the softly gurgling water. And never had fish seemed more willing to bite. Even Dave was surprised at their voracity. In spite of Mrs. Crane's heavy floundering, in spite of the number of times that Mabel slipped from slimy stones to land "kersplash" on her sturdy back, in spite of the delighted shrieks that came from Marjory and Henrietta at every bite, the hungry fish flocked to the feast of angleworms.
