"I've lost him, I've lost him!"
"No, you haven't, but he's running pretty well. Guess I'd better snub him. He'd have cut your fingers with the line if you'd ha' tried."
Susie's soft white hands were hardly suited to work of that sort, and they were already getting a little cold. She was quite willing to pick up her muff, and slip them into it while Vosh pulled in her pickerel for her. It was a right good one too, only a little less weighty than Porter's.
Pen had now taken the line from aunt Judith, and she dropped her hook in very confidently.
"There isn't a scrap of bait on it," said Corry.
"Isn't there? I forgot that. Just wait a minute, and then I'll let you put some on."
Corry and the rest began to laugh, but Pen shouted again,—
"He's nibbling! Now he's biting! Oh, he's bit!"
So he had, bait or no bait; and she was quite strong enough to pull up a very handsome perch without help from anybody.
After that, Deacon Farnham and the boys had the fishing all to themselves. It was well there was enough of it to make it exciting; for it was wet, cold, chilly work. The fish were of several sorts and all sizes; and some of them rubbed themselves free against the icy edges of the hole, in spite of all that could be done. Before noon there was a considerable pile of them lying on the ice, and the fun of catching them had lost a little of its power to keep the cold away.