"
"Same short-cut, same hole, same kind of boy, allers ready to go
fishin'. Good luck, Dick. I calculate you'll come out all right. Any boy
of Tom Morrison couldn't help hittin' the mark in time," called out the
genial old farmer, waving his whip cheerily after the active lad.
"Thank you for the lift, Mr. Prentice. If I can't make a go of it any
other way I may look up that job you spoke about," Dick called out; and
then turning hurriedly climbed a fence that brought him to the meadow.
CHAPTER VII
DICK MAKES A GALLANT RESCUE
The fish did not seem in any great humor for taking hold that morning,
although the weather conditions were just perfect for the sport, from
the view of the boy who had his several poles in favorite places along
the bank.
When he first threw in he had a bite before he could get his second hook
baited, and the prize was a good pound fish, a beauty that made him
exclaim with delight, and consider it a good omen.
But after that the nibbles were few and far between.
The summer sun mounted high in the heavens, and snowy clouds floated
across the blue expanse; tired of sitting and watching his various bobs
Dick finally settled back with his head on a bunch of grass and watched
the beautiful picture above, his thoughts taking flight, as frequently
happens with a boy who possesses an imagination.
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