"Tell you what, boys," said Dabney: "next time we come out we'll bring a hammer and nails, and some oak.u.m, and I'll calk up that old punt so she'll float well enough. Only it won't do to dance in her."

"Then," said Ford, "I move we don't try her again to-day. If we've got to carry all these fish, it'll be a long pull home. We're not half sure of catching another ride."

"We can pole our fish, though, and make it easy carrying."

"How's that?"

"I'll show you. Cut two poles, hang your strings half way, shoulder the poles, and take turns carrying. One boy getting rested, all the while, and no cords cutting your hands."

That was as sensible as if his own mother had told him; and it was a good thing he thought of it, for they did not "catch a ride" till they were half way home. All the wagons were coming the other way, of course, on Sat.u.r.day afternoon; but the one chat then caught up with them had been carrying a new stove home, and was returning empty.

"Fine strings of fish," remarked the stove-man as they clambered in.

"Where'd you catch 'em?"

"Over in one of the lakes."

"Did ye though? You don't say! Guess I know the place. You must have had an all-killin' walk, though. I declare! I'm goin' to try that pond first day I get away."

"Want some of these?"

"Wouldn't rob ye,--but you've got a-plenty--that pickerel? Thank ye, now. Oh!--and the ba.s.s tew? You're good fellers."

He seemed to be another; and Dab warned him at parting, that, "when he wanted to get a string of fish, if he'd come to him he'd tell him just where to go."

"All right. Glad I had the luck to ketch up with ye."

"Dab," said Ford as they reached the outskirts of Grantley, "I know it's late; but we must walk through the village with these fish, if it's only to have the whole town ask us where we caught them."

"That's so. I'm rested now too. Let's get right out."

They were nearly at the southerly end of the village, and there was quite a walk before them.

"Dab," said Frank, "we've more fish than we'll need at our house, if we have 'em for breakfast and dinner both."

"I've been thinking of that. Let's vote on it now. What do you say? One string for the minister?"

"Yes," said Ford, "a ba.s.s for Mr. Fallow, a small pickerel for Mrs.

Fallow, and a perch or a pumpkin-seed for each of the six little Fallows."

"All right; and that big pickerel I caught, for Dr. Brandegee, and the biggest ba.s.s in the lot to keep it company. Let's make him up a prime good mess."

"One that'll stand an examination," said Ford.

CHAPTER x.x.xI.

FIGHT, AND WHAT CAME OF IT.

d.i.c.k Lee was an unwise boy that afternoon.

He knew how to turn his hand to a great many things, thanks to his home-training; and a woodpile was one of the matters he had learned how to deal with, but he had not taken hold of that of Mrs. Myers with any heart for his work.

It was simply impossible for him to imagine that he was pulling in fish, or having any other kind of fun, while he was sawing wood, or even while splitting it.

There was, however, something almost vicious in the way he came down with his axe upon some of the more obstinate pieces.

"He will be a very useful boy," remarked Mrs. Myers, as she watched him from the window; "but I fear I shall have some difficulty with the others. They are very much inclined to be uppish."

d.i.c.k toiled faithfully; and he felt it as a kind of relief, late in the day, to be sent to the grocery-store, at the lower end of the village, with a basket that was to bring home the usual Sat.u.r.day a.s.sortment for Mrs. Myers.

He did well enough in going; but on his way home, if the truth must be told, d.i.c.k Lee loitered dreadfully. It was so nice a day, and he had been so long at his woodpile, and he had had so little time to call his own that week.

Over on the green, the boys of the village were playing a sort of "match-game" of base-ball, with a picked nine from the academy; and there seemed no reason why d.i.c.k and his basket should not stroll along inside the barrier-fence of the green, and see them play it.

That was where his unwisdom showed itself; for among the boys who were not playing were Joe and Fuz Hart and all their "crowd," and this was the first time they had seen d.i.c.k on the green "all alone."

That would have been quite enough of itself, considering how black he was, and that he was a "new boy" at the academy; but the additional fact that he had his basket on his arm opened the way to trouble for him all the sooner.

He was standing still, on the walk near the fence, gazing at the batting and catching with so deep an interest that his mouth would stay open, when he suddenly found himself "surrounded."

"Hullo, d.i.c.k, what you got in your basket?"

"Groceries! Groceries! Fresh from Afriky."

"Let's see 'em."

"Jes' you keep off, now."

"Give us that basket."

"Don't you tech a thing!"

"What you got, Midnight?"

"None ob youah business. I's 'tendin' to mine. Put dat back, now, will you?"

d.i.c.k had promptly retreated against the fence, in his surprise and vexation, and was defending himself and his cargo vigorously, but he was sadly outnumbered.

They were a cowardly lot: for their all but helpless victim had even received several sharp blows, in return for his grasps and pushes; and the matter threatened to end unpleasantly for him, when suddenly Joe Hart felt his feet jerked from under him. Down he went, and over went Fuz on top of him; and then there were four or five boys all in a heap, with d.i.c.k's basket upset just beyond them, and d.i.c.k himself diving hither and thither after its late contents, and exclaiming,--

"Cap'n Dab's come! I's all right now. Jes' let me pick up some ob dese t'ings."

There was a resentful ring in the last remark, as if he were thinking of something like war after the recovery of his groceries; but it was indeed the voice of Dab Kinzer, shouting full and clear,--