“Fish with what? Guns?” asked Skeeter scornfully.
“No, fishing lines with minnows for bait,” and Lucy found a pin in her middy blouse and with a narrow pink ribbon drawn mysteriously from somewhere tied to the pin, which she bent into a fine hook, she got ready for the gentle art. A sardine from a sandwich made excellent bait, at least the speckled beauties in that pool thought so as they rose to it greedily.
“E—e-ee!” squealed Lucy, flopping an eight-inch trout out on the bank. “I caught a fish! I caught a fish!”
“Oh, gimme a pin, please,” begged the boys, so Lucy and Lil had to find fish hooks for their cavaliers and more strings and in a short while all of them were eagerly fishing.
“I never saw such tame fish in all my life,” said Frank. “They are just begging to be caught. It seems not very sporty to hook them in, somehow.”
“I didn’t know there were any trout in these streams. Doctor Wright says there used to be but the natives have about exterminated them. Gee, there’s a beaut!” and Skeeter flopped a mate to Lucy’s catch out on the grass.
“Let’s stop fishing and fry these,” he suggested, “I’m awfully hungry.”
“Hungry! Oh, Skeeter! I’m right uneasy about you,” teased Lil.
“Well, I never did think sandwiches were very filling. Somehow they don’t stick to your ribs. Come on, Frank, we can get a fire in no time.”
“How can we fry anything without lard and a pan?”