e bait was passed along to the fisherman, who threw out, and in five
minutes was again successful, drawing in, after a short struggle, a nice
little chub.

After that, it was as if the disturbance of the water had driven the
fish away, and though Bob tried in every direction, using the
caterpillar, a worm, a bit of bread paste, and a scrap of cheese, he
could not get another bite.

Bob tried after that till he was tired, but no fish would bite, so he
handed the rod to Dexter, who also fished for some time in vain, when a
removal was determined upon; but though they tried place after place
there were no more bites, and hunger having asserted itself once more,
they landed to prepare their dinner.

The place chosen was very solitary, being where the river ran deeply
beneath a high limestone cliff, and landing, a few sticks were soon
gathered together ready for a fire.

"But we have no matches," said Dexter.

"You mean you ain't got none," sneered Bob, taking a box out of his
pocket. "I'm captain, and captains always thinks of these things. Now
then, clean them fish, while I lights this fire. Got a knife, ain't
yer!"

Dexter had a knife, and he opened it and proceeded to perform the rather
disgusting task, while Bob lay down and began blowing at the fire to get
it into a blaze.

That fish-cleaning was very necessary, but somehow it did not add to the
charm of the _alfresco_ preparations; and Dexter could not help thinking
once how uncomfortable it would be if it came on to rain and put out the
fire.

But it did not come on to rain; the wood burned merrily, and after a
piece of shaley limestone had been found it was placed in the fire where
the embers were most clear, and the fish laid upon it to cook.

The success was not great, for when the fish began to feel the heat, and
hissed and sputtered, the piece of stone began to send off splinters,
with a loud crack, from time to time. Then a pocket-knife, though
useful, is not a convenient cooking implement, especially when, for want
of lard or butter, the fish began to stick to the stone, and refused to
be turned over without leaving their skins behind.

"Ain't it fun?" said Bob.

Dexter said it was. He did not know why, for at that moment a piece of
green wood had sent a jet of hot, steamy smoke in his eyes, which gave
him intense pain, and set him rubbing the smarting places in a way which
made them worse.

"Here, don't make such a fuss over a bit o' smok