“Keep the stick,” called back Hal, as, dragging the reluctant Bob, they moved off, leaving the turtle, his jaws firmly clamped upon the piece of wood, in possession of the field of battle.
Having secured a supply of the hapless frogs, the boys took a short cut to pay their respects to Sam and Joe. Bob, after pretending that he was going back to have it out with the turtle, finally cooled down and trotted along with them. But he could not be induced to approach the shanty, and with an eye out for the brindled dog sat at a distance and sorrowfully waited.
Sam was on the muddy beach, mending the seine; Joe was moulding dough-balls, on the bench in front of the cabin.
“Good-morning,” said the boys.
“Mornin’,” replied Joe.
From the shady side of the shanty the brindled dog growled; from the beach Sam nodded.
“How’s fishin’?” asked Joe.
“Pretty good,” answered Ned. “Only, we overslept.”
“Thought you did. Seen you weren’t up when we went out, ’bout five o’clock,” said Joe.
“Going to try the net?” inquired Hal, looking at Sam and his task.