In size it was distinctly disappointing, for one could easily have thrown a baseball across it at its widest place. Connected with it, as they later discovered, were two other creeks. In shape it was as nearly round as any pond might be, with low margins and much pickerel-weed to engage the propeller. Pud voiced disgust, but Tim replied that maybe it was big enough to hold fish. As for Harmon, he already had his half-dead frog trailing in the water. It took some searching to find a depth of more than eight feet, but they finally succeeded and dropped anchor and went to fishing hopefully. About six o’clock hope died and Pud and Tim took turns at telling what they thought of the veracity of the stranger in the punt. Not once had a hook been nosed at, not once had anything more than a dragon-fly stirred the placid surface. It was the stillest, most lonesome spot they had ever seen, and Pud gave it as his well-considered verdict that there wasn’t a fish there, never had been and never would be. Harmon, viewing his pathetic bait dubiously and striving to make it show some sign of life by poking it with a finger, remarked that if he had some ‘good ol’ worms’ he could get results. They fished on half-heartedly for a while longer and then gave up. Tim was the last to quit, plainly disgruntled because he alone had failed to land anything. It was now too late to seek further for a spot on which to spend the night, and fortunately a really ideal camp-site lay before them in the shape of a hummock sparsely clad with a few discouraged-looking pines. It was almost free of undergrowth and carpeted with coarse grass and brown needles. There was just room for the tent and a fireplace in front, and after they had finally pushed the bow of the launch to within jumping distance of dry land they disembarked and proceeded to make camp. Harmon had to hunt long before he had accumulated enough wood to carry them along until bedtime, but he succeeded at last, and soon there was a fragrant fire burning. The two bass were cleaned and fried, and, as the sun sank behind the marshes to the west, three very hungry boys squatted down around the fire and had the best meal of the cruise. They felt far more cheerful after supper, and while Harmon cleaned up and rebuilt the fire, and while Pud stretched lazily out on a blanket, Tim fished from the stern of the launch in about three feet of water and, just as darkness fell, pulled forth a twelve-inch pickerel. Until he got it to the light of the fire he wasn’t sure what it was, and feared it might prove to be an eel! His triumph was expressed loudly and at length, and he would have gone back to the launch for more pickerel if Pud hadn’t forbidden it!