"Do they like to have you catch 'em?" said Prudy, dropping her little dipper, and going to the fence; "don't it hurt?"
"Hurt? Not as I know of. They needn't bite if they don't want to."
"No," returned Prudy, looking very wise, "I s'pose they want to get out, and that's why they bite. Of course when fishes stay in the water much it makes 'em drown."
"O, my stars!" cried Horace, laughing, "you ought to live 'out west,' you're such a cunning little spud. Come, now, here's another fish-pole for you. I'll show you how to catch one, and I bet 'twill be a pollywog—you're just big enough."
"But grandma didn't say I might go down to the river. Wait till I go ask her."
"Poh!" said Horace, "no you needn't; I have to hurry. Grandma always likes it when you go with me, Prudy, because you see I'm a boy, and she knows I can take care of you twice as well as Grace and Susy can."
"O," cried Prudy, clapping her little hands, "they won't any of 'em know I can fish, and how they'll laugh. But there, now, they don't let me climb the fence—I forgot."
"Well, give us your bonnet, and then you 'scooch' down, and I'll pull you through."
"There," said the naughty boy, when they had got down to the river, "now I've been and put a bait on the end of your hook, and I plump it in the water—so. You just hold on to the pole."
"But it jiggles—it tips me!" cried Prudy; and as she spoke she fell face downwards on the bank.