Part 17 (2/2)
”Well! what is it?” snapped the busy fisherman.
”I'll have to buy you a new one.”
”Buy me _what_?” demanded the surprised Bobby.
”A new float.”
”What for?” was the amazed demand.
”Because that one you lent me _has sunk_,” mourned Lily.
”For goodness' sake!” shrieked Bobby. ”You've got a bite!”
She dropped her own pole, ran to the amazed Lily, and dragged in a big bullpout--sometimes called ”catfish”--that was sulking in the mud at the bottom, with Lil's hook firmly fastened in its jaws.
Lil shrieked. She would not touch the wriggling, black fish. She was afraid of being ”horned,” she said!
Bobby put her foot on the fish and managed to extract the hook. Then she baited the hook again and bade Lil try her luck once more.
But the amateur fisherman was doomed to ill-luck on this occasion. She had scarcely dropped the bait into the water, when a fierce little head appeared right at the surface. It swallowed the bait--hook and all--at a gulp, and swam right toward the sh.o.r.e where Lil stood.
She began to squeal again: ”A snake! a snake! Oh, Bobby, I'm deathly afraid of snakes.”
”So am I,” rejoined Bobby. ”But you won't catch a snake in the water with a hook and line.”
”_I've caught one!_” gasped the frightened Lil.
”Gee!” growled Bobby. ”You're more trouble than a box of bald-headed monkeys. What is the matter--Oo! it's a snapper!”
”A what?” cried Lil, dropping the fishpole.
”A snapping turtle,” explained Bobby. ”Now you _have_ caught it! I'll lose hook and all, like enough.”
She jerked the turtle ash.o.r.e. Lil had seen only its reptilian head.
The beast proved to be more than a foot across.
”Makes bully soup,” said the practical Bobby. ”But he won't willingly let go of that bait and the hook in a month of Sundays.”
She ran up to the camp and came flying back in a minute with the camp-hatchet. Lil grew bold enough to hold the line taut. The turtle pulled back, and Bobby caught it just right and cut its head off!
Although Lonesome Liz had never seen a turtle before, she managed to clean it and with Mrs. Morse's advice made a pot of soup. Lizzie was getting bolder as the hours pa.s.sed; but she announced to Laura that she believed there must be ”ha'nts” in the woods.
”What is a haunt?” asked Laura, curiously.
”Dead folks that ain't contented in their minds,” declared the queer girl.
”And why should the spirits of the dead haunt _these_ woods?” asked Laura. ”Seems to me it's an awfully out of the way place for dead people to come to.”
But Lizzie would not give up her belief in the ”spooks.”
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