The Girls of Central High in Camp Part 17

mother gave the signal.

Flapjacks! My! weren't they good, with b.u.t.ter and syrup, followed by bacon and eggs and French fried potatoes? The girls ate for a solid hour. Lizzie's face was the color of a well-burned brick when the girls admitted they were satisfied. The out-of-door air had given even Lil an enormous appet.i.te.

"If my mother had any idea that I'd eat so much at this time in the morning she'd never have let me come camping," she said. "Why! do you know--I only drink a cup of coffee and pick the inside out of a roll, at breakfast, at home."

There was a general inclination to "laze" about the camp and read, or take naps after that heavy breakfast. But Laura would not allow the other six girls of Central High any peace.

"Of course, we have a big ham and a case of eggs with us," said Mother Wit. "But we don't want to eat ham and eggs, or bacon and eggs, three times a day while we stay here.

"Beside, the eggs, at least, won't hold out. We must add to the larder----"

"What shall we do?" asked Dora Lockwood. "Paddle to the mainland and kill some farmer's cow to get beef?"

"No, indeed," Laura said, laughing. "We must, however, make an attempt to coax some of the finny denizens of the lake out of it and into Lizzie's fry-pan."

"Fis.h.i.+ng!" cried Dorothy.

"I never went fis.h.i.+ng in my life," complained Lil.

But the other girls of Central High were not like Lil--no, indeed!

They had been out with the boys on Lake Luna--both in summer and winter--and every one of them knew how to put a worm on a hook.

Lil squealed at the thought of "using one of the squirmy things."

"Aw, you give me a pain!" said Bobby. "Don't act as though you were made of something different from the rest of us. A worm never bit me yet, and I've been fis.h.i.+ng thousands of times, I guess."

Lil did not hear her, however. She was the only girl who had not brought fis.h.i.+ng tackle. When she saw her six schoolmates going about the work of tolling the finny denizens of Lake Dunkirk onto the bank, she began to be jealous of the fun they were having. White perch, and roach, and now and then a lake trout, were being landed.

Lil got excited. She wanted to try her hand at the sport, too. Yes!

Bobby had an extra outfit, and she even cut Lil a pole.

"But I tell you what it is, Miss," said the black-eyed girl, "I'm going to hold you responsible for this outfit. If you break anything, or lose anything, or snarl the line up, you'll have to pay me for it.

I paid good money for that silk line and those hooks."

Lil promised to make good if anything happened to the fis.h.i.+ng tackle.

She took her place on a rock near Bobby and made a cast. The other girls were very busy themselves and paid Lil very little attention.

The fish were biting freely, for the morning was cloudy and these waters about Acorn Island were far from being "fished out." Bobby hauled in a couple of perch and had almost forgotten about Lil, when the latter said, mournfully:

"Say, Clara."

"Well! what is it?" demanded the other.

"What do you call that little thing that bobbed up and down on the water?"

"The float," replied the busy Bobby.

"Well, Clara!" whined Lil, mournfully.

"Well! what is it?" snapped the busy fisherman.

"I'll have to buy you a new one."

"Buy me _what_?" demanded the surprised Bobby.

"A new float."

"What for?" was the amazed demand.

"Because that one you lent me _has sunk_," mourned Lily.

"For goodness' sake!" shrieked Bobby. "You've got a bite!"

She dropped her own pole, ran to the amazed Lily, and dragged in a big bullpout--sometimes called "catfish"--that was sulking in the mud at the bottom, with Lil's hook firmly fastened in its jaws.

Lil shrieked. She would not touch the wriggling, black fish. She was afraid of being "horned," she said!

Bobby put her foot on the fish and managed to extract the hook. Then she baited the hook again and bade Lil try her luck once more.

But the amateur fisherman was doomed to ill-luck on this occasion. She had scarcely dropped the bait into the water, when a fierce little head appeared right at the surface. It swallowed the bait--hook and all--at a gulp, and swam right toward the sh.o.r.e where Lil stood.

She began to squeal again: "A snake! a snake! Oh, Bobby, I'm deathly afraid of snakes."

"So am I," rejoined Bobby. "But you won't catch a snake in the water with a hook and line."

"_I've caught one!_" gasped the frightened Lil.

"Gee!" growled Bobby. "You're more trouble than a box of bald-headed monkeys. What is the matter--Oo! it's a snapper!"

"A what?" cried Lil, dropping the fishpole.

"A snapping turtle," explained Bobby. "Now you _have_ caught it! I'll lose hook and all, like enough."

She jerked the turtle ash.o.r.e. Lil had seen only its reptilian head.

The beast proved to be more than a foot across.

"Makes bully soup," said the practical Bobby. "But he won't willingly let go of that bait and the hook in a month of Sundays."

She ran up to the camp and came flying back in a minute with the camp-hatchet. Lil grew bold enough to hold the line taut. The turtle pulled back, and Bobby caught it just right and cut its head off!

Although Lonesome Liz had never seen a turtle before, she managed to clean it and with Mrs. Morse's advice made a pot of soup. Lizzie was getting bolder as the hours pa.s.sed; but she announced to Laura that she believed there must be "ha'nts" in the woods.

"What is a haunt?" asked Laura, curiously.

"Dead folks that ain't contented in their minds," declared the queer girl.

"And why should the spirits of the dead haunt _these_ woods?" asked Laura. "Seems to me it's an awfully out of the way place for dead people to come to."

But Lizzie would not give up her belief in the "spooks."