n he left the
track and clambered down the steep slope to the pond.

I am a good walker, but I was tired long before I reached the slope.
The bait pail, which I refilled with fresh water at Beriah's pump, grew
heavier as I went on, and I began to think Lute knew what he was talking
about when he declared me to be "plumb crazy, hoofin' it four mile
loaded down with all that dunnage." However, when the long "hoof" was
over, and I sat down in a patch of "hog-cranberry" vines for a smoke,
with the pond before me, I was measurably happy. This was the sort of
thing I liked. Here there were no Shore Lane controversies, but real
independence and peace.

After my smoke was finished and I had rested, I carried my "dunnage"
around to the point where I intended to begin my fishing, put the lunch
basket in a shady place beneath the bushes, and the bait pail in the
water nearby, changed my shoes for the fishing boots, rigged my rod and
was ready.

At first the fishing was rather poor. The pond was full of perch
and they were troublesome. By and by, however, I hooked a four-pound
pickerel and he stirred my lagging ambition. I waded on, casting and
playing beyond the lily pads and sedge. At last I got my first bass, a
small one, and had scarcely landed him than a big fellow struck, fought,
rose and broke away. That was spur sufficient. All the forenoon I waded
about the shores of that pond. When at half-past eleven the sun came
out and I knew my sport was over, for the time at least, I had four
bass--two of them fine ones--and two, pickerel. Then I remembered my
appetite and Dorinda's luncheon.

I went back to the point and inspected the contents of the basket.
Sandwiches, cold chicken, eggs, doughnuts and apple puffs. They looked
good to me. Also there were pepper and salt in one paper, sugar in
another, coffee in a third, and milk in a bottle. I collected some dry
chips and branches and prepared to kindle a fire. As I bent over the
heap of sticks and chips I heard the sound of horses' hoofs in the woods
near by.

I was surprised and annoyed. The principal charm of Seabury Pond was
that so few people visited it. Also fewer still knew how good the
fishing was there. I was not more than ordinarily selfish, but I did not
care to have the place overrun with excursionists from the city, who
had no scruples as to number and size of fish caught and would ruin
the sport as they had ruined it at other and better known ponds. The
passerb