“It couldn’t get away, it was hooked so well. You could have landed it with a block and tackle. It had swallowed the hook.”
“Well, you just watch me next time.”
An hour elapsed, however, without another strike. The summer sun had climbed high into the heaven and the waters of Six Town Pond were almost like glass. Walter’s impatience increased as the time slowly passed. Even conversation ceased and at last Dan said:
“The water is almost too clear this morning, Walter. I’m afraid we sha’n’t get many pickerel to-day. It’s half past eleven,” he added as he glanced at his watch. “Don’t you think we’d better row over to the bluff and get a few perch for dinner?”
“I’m ready,” responded Walter promptly. “Shall I reel in?”
“No; you might as well troll while we’re crossing the pond. One never can tell, you know. By the way, Walter, is this a pond or a lake?”
“What’s the difference? I always thought a pond was a small lake.”
“A lake has an outlet; a pond doesn’t. No, it’s the other way.”
“Then Ontario and Erie ought really to be called Ontario Pond and Erie Pond—they both have outlets.”