Blix sat in the stern, jointing the rods and running the lines through the guides.

She even baited the hooks with the salt shrimp herself, and by nine o'clock they were at anchor some forty feet off shore, and fishing, according to Richardson's advice, "a leetle mite off the edge o' the weeds." "If we don't get a bite the whole blessed day," said Condy, as he paid out his line to the ratchet music of the reel, "we'll have fun just the same.

Look around--isn't this great ?" They were absolutely alone.

The day was young yet.

The lake, smooth and still as gray silk, widened to the west and south without so much as a wrinkle to roughen the surface.