"I don't want to look at vittles; I want to taste 'em." There was a pause, while Dave worked steadily away with his pole.
"I shall be glad when the summer comes again," said Tom.
"So shall I," cried Dick.
"Theer, I towd you so," cried Dave.

"I knowed you'd find it ower cowd.
Let's go back." "Go on with you!" cried Dick; "who said it was cold?
I want the summer, because of the sunshine, and the reeds and rushes turning green again, and the birds." "There's plenty o' birds," said Dave.
"Yes, but I mean singing birds, and nesting, and flowers, and the warmth." "Theer, I towd you so.

You are cowd," cried Dave.
"When I'm cold I'm going to use the pole," said Dick.

"I say isn't it deep here, Dave ?" "Ay, theer's some deep holes hereabouts," said the man, trying in vain to reach the bottom with his long pole.

"They wean't dree-ern they in a hurry, Mester Dick." "Good job too, Dave! We don't want our fishing spoiled.