I see a snug place between the roots of that oak growing upon the bank, and there I sit." "There are plenty of good places," said Dick, as they seated themselves and unwrapped their lines, "and I've a notion that our fishing is going to prove good.

Isn't it fine?
Why, it's like being back home!" "Time's rolled back and we're just boys again," said Pennington.
"Don't try to be poetic, Frank," said Warner.

"I've told you already that a man who has nothing but muddy streaks of dew to fish in can't know anything about fishing." "Stop quarreling, you two," said Dick.

"Don't you know that such voices as yours raised in loud tones would scare away the boldest fish that ever swam ?" The three cast their lines out into the stream.

They were of the old-fashioned kind, a hook, a lead sinker, and a cork on the line to keep it from sinking too far.