made their strings of fish look perceptibly smaller.

"Tell you what, boys," said Dabney: "next time we come out we'll bring a
hammer and nails, and some oakum, and I'll calk up that old punt so
she'll float well enough. Only it won't do to dance in her."

"Then," said Ford, "I move we don't try her again to-day. If we've got
to carry all these fish, it'll be a long pull home. We're not half sure
of catching another ride."

"We can pole our fish, though, and make it easy carrying."

"How's that?"

"I'll show you. Cut two poles, hang your strings half way, shoulder the
poles, and take turns carrying. One boy getting rested, all the while,
and no cords cutting your hands."

That was as sensible as if his own mother had told him; and it was a
good thing he thought of it, for they did not "catch a ride" till they
were half way home. All the wagons were coming the other way, of course,
on Saturday afternoon; but the one chat then caught up with them had
been carrying a new stove home, and was returning empty.

"Fine strings of fish," remarked the stove-man as they clambered in.
"Where'd you catch 'em?"

"Over in one of the lakes."

"Did ye though? You don't say! Guess I know the place. You must have had