"Now for good luck," said Martin, as he threw his minnow near the branches of the fallen tree.
"And here goes for a three-pounder," chimed in Owen, dropping his minnow on the opposite side of the sycamore.
Five minutes passed. The boys played their minnows up and down the stream, threw them out and pulled them in, vainly hoping to attract a fish.
"No three-pounder yet," said Owen, who, as the reader has seen, had not the patience of his companion.
"No, not yet," replied Martin, still manœuvering with his line. "Not yet, but they'll come soon. We can't expect the perch to be waiting at the exact spot where we chance to stop."
"And they can't expect us to wait all day for them," rejoined Owen, with a laugh.
"Give them a fair trial—say fifteen minutes more."
"All right," and Owen took out his father's watch, which he had borrowed for the day.
"Look at your bobber!" cried Martin before two minutes had passed.
"Where?"