As Ned, tired out and pale, took the oars and rowed slowly over the now glassy water towards the bay, Joe listlessly took a small pair of scales from his pocket and weighed the fish, and when he found that he weighed over six pounds, just a little, he gave a long sigh.
"That's the biggest bass on record for this lake, don't you think so?"
Ned did not reply; he was too tired to even speak.
The other floats had been washed ashore or had disappeared somewhere; the boys did not look for them, or even think of them.
Tot seemed to know that he was pulling two very tired boys, and went along gently, and turned in of his own accord at the gate of the Thompsons' place.
Joe tottered as he got out of the buckboard, and held the bass up by the gills, to the astonishment of his father and mother, who were at the door to meet them. They had seen the storm come up, and had anxiously awaited the boys' return. As he stepped forward, the set line and block fell on the steps.
The long story was being told in a slow and labored way by Joe after Ned had gone, when it was interrupted by Mr. Thompson, who saw that his son was growing pale and faint.
"That'll do for the present," he said. "Now come with me, old man," and putting his arm around Joe's waist, he gently helped him into the house and up to his own room, where he was undressed and carefully tucked into bed.
"So you caught him on a set line, did you?" said Mr. Thompson, as he sat by the bed-side, holding Joe's hand. "Now listen to a word of advice. Don't ever use set lines again. Fish with your rod and reel if you want to be called a true sportsman."