' And Little Sword coming to
his senses as he realized his victory, rose slowly out of the area of
the ink cloud. He knew that the Inkmaker's flesh was very good to eat,
and he merely waited for the cloud to settle before making a meal which
would completely satisfy his vengeance."
The Babe was thoughtful for a few moments after Uncle Andy stopped
speaking. At length he said positively:
"I'm glad we don't have any Inkmakers, either, in the lake."
"Umph!" grunted Uncle Andy, "there are lots of things we don't have
that we can very well do without."
CHAPTER V
ROCKED IN THE CRADLE OF THE DEEP
Casting his flies across the eddying mouth of one of those cold streams
which feed the crystal bosom of Silverwater, Uncle Andy had landed a
magnificent pink-bellied trout--five pounds, if an ounce!
"Hi, but isn't he a whopper?" he cried exultantly, holding up his prize
for the inspection of the Babe, who had been watching the struggle
breathlessly.
"A--whopper?" repeated the Babe doubtfully. His idea of a whopper was
something that objectionable little boys have been known to tell in
order to get themselves out of a scrape. No full-fledged fisherman as
yet, he did not see what it could have to do with a trout.
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