They breakfasted very well on a couple of plump, silvery chub--though they would have preferred trout, of course--and then, just for sport, began killing as many as they could, only swallowing a bite out of each, from the thick, flaky meat behind the head.

They were young, you see--though not more foolish than lots of sportsmen we hear about.

In a very few minutes, of course, every fish that could get away had got away as far as possible from that deadly pool.

And then the two reckless fishermen crawled ashore and began a tug of war with a stick.

They could just not help playing, you see, any more than kittens or puppies could; though they were still lonely and anxious.