Yes, John's story must be quite true, for now as he turned his gaze from the unprofitable fisherman back to the pool, Toots was sure he could see shadowy figures floating in and out among the rocks. Certainly there was Grandfather Pickerel, the patriarch of the family. Toots could see him now quite plainly. He was having a domestic discussion with two other pickerel who bore a strong family resemblance to him.
"They must be Father and Mother Pickerel," thought Toots.
Darting about near by, Toots could see the whole brood of young pickerels. They were of all sizes, from Big Brother Pickerel, who was nearly as large as his father, down to Baby Pickerel, who was hardly larger than a minnow. Suddenly Toots realized that something of unusual importance was going on at the bottom of the pool, for as his eyes grew more accustomed to the wavering lights and shadows in the water, he could see, swimming about in the near neighborhood of the Pickerel Family, a whole troop of collateral relations. He recognized Uncle Pike by his fierce look and by the way he ordered the other relations about. Toots knew Aunt Bass by her plump figure and the bright silver suit she wore. She was swimming here and there, conversing amiably with everybody. Miss Catfish, a distant and poor relation, was lingering modestly in the background. Nobody seemed to be paying any attention to her except Big Brother Pickerel, who kept edging over in her direction, only to be pursued, reprimanded and driven back to the inner family circle by Mother Pickerel. Toots felt that revelations of the utmost significance were impending. He hardly dared to breathe. Just then his observations were interrupted by the shrill voice of the Princess: "Toots! Toots! John's coming!"
This was different. Toots scrambled down from the boulder and ran to meet the big man with the tattered straw hat who was approaching with his crooked fish-pole on his shoulder. In one hand John carried a rusty oyster can which appeared to be full of dirt. Toots stuck his fingers into the dirt and brought something white to the surface.
"They're grubs," he exclaimed delightedly. "Now we shall have fried pickerel for supper."
Reginald was reeling in his line. His face wore a look of discontent.
"Don't seem to have much appetite for red feathers to-day, do they?" said John, as he stuck a grub on his hook and dropped it into the pool.