"It's a beauty anyway," he said as he surveyed it, "and it's the first one caught. Didn't I tell you that I'd be the one to name the river? I'll name it right now the Fairview River."
Sammy was about to reply when all his energies were called into play to land a perch that had grabbed his line. At almost the same time George pulled in a bullhead, and from that time on the fun was fast and furious. The stream was not often fished in, and so the fish were not as wary of human foes as usual. In less than half an hour the boys had as many as thirty fish lying on the bank, and then George called a halt.
"We've got the mess we promised Mrs. Claxton all right," he said exultingly, "and we don't want to catch a lot that we'll simply have to leave here on the grass. I'll tell you what let's do. We'll clean a few of these and broil them over a fire of oak twigs and have a fish feast right here. There's butter and pepper and salt in the lunch box, and I bet we'll have the dandiest fish fry you ever tasted in your life."
The other boys agreed to this and all set to work at once.
They feasted long and well, and when they were through had hardly enough energy left to move.
"I feel now like some of those Australian natives I've read about," said George. "They say that when a whale drifts ashore they eat steadily for about thirty-six hours. Then they sleep for a week."
"An anaconda hasn't anything on them," agreed Frank. "I feel myself as though I wouldn't half mind going to sleep."
"It wouldn't be any trouble for me at all," said Sammy, drowsily.
"Same here," assented Bob.
They lay stretched out on their backs, lazy and content. The only sound was the murmur of the river and the wind blowing through the trees. The sun stole through the leaves and flecked the green sward with bits of gold. It was a scene of perfect dreamy peace.