The boys passed over the little brook that ran across the road, just beyond Adrian's home, the stream being spanned by a wooden bridge. Soon they came to Hank Mack's general store, where you could buy a plow or a yard of red calico, a stick of candy or some gunpowder, a loaf of bread or a salt mackerel. Then there was the blacksmith shop, in the door of which stood Sam Bennett, and, next, the grist mill, kept by Truem Wright, as jolly a chap as one would care to meet in the course of a day's travel. The last building, save some houses, before the boys came to the turn of the road, was the public inn or tavern, which bore the name "The Pine Tree. Abe Crownheart, Proprietor," in big faded blue letters over the door. It was still early in the day, but nearly all the people in Cardiff seemed to be up and about. The men and women whom Adrian met nodded or spoke to him, and glanced rather curiously at Roger, for strangers were not common in town. A walk of half a mile brought the boys to the cross-road, and they went down that some distance before Adrian indicated the place where they were to cut across lots to reach the creek. Through the fields they went, most of the land they found themselves travelling over having been given up to the raising of corn, which was now gathered in shocks, ready to be husked, leaving the heavy brown stubble sticking out of the earth. "Don't know's we'll have much luck to-day," said Adrian, rather dubiously, as he wet his finger and held it up in the air to note which side felt coolest, and so determine the direction of the breeze. "Why not?" "South wind." "What's that got to do with fishing?" "Lots. Didn't you ever hear that? Why we never go fishing if the wind's south. It wasn't there when we started, but I guess it shifted. There's a verse that says: 'When the wind's in the west the fish bite best; when the wind's in the south it blows the hook out their mouth.' But maybe we'll get a few." "I hope so, after all our work," said Roger. "If I don't, it won't be the first time, for me," added Adrian, as though to prepare for the worst. They tramped for half a mile more, and then, turning down a well-beaten path, Adrian led the way to an opening amid a grove of willow trees, along the edge of the creek. The stream, which was broad and deep here, curved around from a point, and formed an eddy that had eaten quite a distance into the bank. This eddy was used as a swimming hole by the boys of the village, but now the water was a little too cool for that sport, so the fish were not disturbed in what Adrian knew was one of their favorite haunts.