“Theer we are: ten of ’em,” said Dave smiling as if he were anticipating the pleasure he would feel in getting some monster tyrant pike upon the hook. “You, young Tom Tallington, pass me that theer boocket.”
Tom lifted the bucket, which stood at the side, covered over with some old pieces of netting, and placed it between Dave’s knees in the spot from which he removed the basket.
“Now you can both hev a look,” he said with a sly glance from one to the other. “Hey, little boys, then; hey, little boys: back yow go!”
This was to a couple of frogs, which had been in the water the bucket contained, but had climbed up the side, to try and get through the meshes of the net, but only to force their heads through and hold on with their claws.
Dave poked one of the frogs with his finger, but the little reptile swelled itself out, and took hold more tightly of the net.
“Here, let go, will you!” cried Dick, taking the frog between his fingers gently enough; but the little creature clung more tightly, and began to squeal loudly, till it was dislodged and dropped into the pail, the other being shaken free, and falling with a splash beside his fellow, when there was a tremendous commotion in the pail; for, beside a couple more frogs, there were about a dozen small fishes scurrying about in the water.
“Theer,” cried Dave, looking up; “what do you say to them for bait, eh?”
“Why, they’re gudgeons, Dave!” cried Dick.
“Ay, lad, gudgeons.”
“Where did you get them?” asked Tom. “There are no gudgeons in the fen waters.”