“There was only one queen on that, while we have three,” grinned Walter. “But come along, girls. I want you to catch those fish, so I can show you what a peach of a cook I am.”
The girls went on board in high glee, Paul cast off the moorings, Jack started the engine to chugging, and Walter this time took charge of the wheel.
The Water Sprite darted off proudly, as though conscious she was looking her best. The boys had not been content with mere decoration, but had made a thorough job of fixing the hull as well, and this time there was no danger of wet feet.
They went down the lake some distance, and then Jack stopped the engine, and the Water Sprite floated about lazily, while they baited the hooks and threw out the lines.
“I’ve got a bite,” said Jack suddenly.
“Does it hurt?” asked Walter solicitously.
Bess giggled, and the others joined in when Jack hauled up a lot of dripping weeds.
“Old Izaak Walton had nothing on you as a fisherman,” chaffed Paul.
But the laugh was on him a moment later, when a voracious pickerel made off with his hook and sinker, and he ruefully pulled up his broken line.
Cora was the first to score, landing a big flopping perch to an accompaniment of little squeals from Bess and Belle.