The "pond" was a sort of miniature lake, and was nearly half a mile long, although it was nowhere very wide. It was supplied by what Mr. Galloway, the landlord, called the "creek"—a pretty stream of water about ten times as large as the trout brook in the meadow.
There were fish in that pond, and it was a pity the man from the city had not known it, and tried for some of them with angle-worms, instead of wasting his time over there in the meadow.
As it was, Jeff and Charley had it all to themselves, and the latter was half glad his city cousin got the first bite.
"Good for you, Jeff!"
"Bull-head! bull-head!"
"Look out for his horns."
"Ain't he a whopper?"
"I say, Jeff, did you ever read about flying-fish?"
"Course I have."
"Well, shouldn't you think their wings'd get wet under water?"