Not content with vaunting the superiority of their two dusty pickerel, they reduced us to deeper humiliation by recounting their adventures. Joe Carter had lost bait, hook, and float from his fishing tackle, through the agency of the enormous turtle who had lived for many a year under the bridge at the head of the pool, and Rob Currier had fallen into the water and come out wet to the knees. So it was evident that there was nothing for Jimmy and me but to hide our diminished heads. We said little, but suggested that as the morning was apparently far advanced, it would be well to have a swim and our midday meal. By the railroad track,--a short cut, we reached the swimming place, Four Rocks. It was probably the poorest swimming pool ever prescribed by an iron tradition. Passing trains made it necessary modestly to seek deeper water, and grazing cows threatened to devour our clothes; but here, and at no other place, did every boy learn to swim. Tradition is a tyrant; during the believing years it is the worst of despots. In a few minutes we were all in the water,--all except Rob Currier, who, under threat of dire punishment, had been eternally charged by his mother to keep out of the water until he was a complete master of the art of swimming. As he had not yet learned on land, he sat on the bank, threw pebbles at the cows, and from time to time remarked monotonously: "Oh, come on!" The process of dressing was slow,--the use of towels, or any serious attempt to dry oneself, being tabooed as a sign of the most degrading effeminacy. When we were ready to depart, the position of the sun, and a hollow sensation in our interiors, showed beyond question that we must once more draw upon our commissariat. Guided by three gaunt poplars, we advanced to the Devil's Den,--an ancient limestone quarry, which had some of the appearance, and many of the advantages, of a natural cave. Curious mineral substances were found there,--asbestos might be dug from the rock with a jack-knife, and green veins of serpentine decorated the side of the cliff. It was a recognized spot for picnics, and we should have scarcely thought of eating our principal meal anywhere else. In the deepest part of the cleft was an unwholesome-looking puddle into which dripped the moisture from the roof of the cave. It was rather gloomy, and made visitors lower their voices a little, until they were in the sunlight once more. We built a fire,--for what purpose it would be difficult to say, as sandwiches, cake, and fruit do not need a great deal of cooking, and the fish which we had captured had been left with old Mr. Harris, the railroad-crossing tender, to be claimed on our return trip.