all the boys went fishing. They had been out quite late the night before to find the “night walkers” for bait, as those little worms only come out of the ground after dark. Bert had a new line his father brought from Lakeport, and the others boys had nets and hooks, as most country boys who live near streams are always fond of fishing.
“Let’s go over to the cove,” Harry said when they all started off. “There’s lots of good fish in that dark corner.”
So the cove was chosen as a good spot to fish from, and soon the Bobbsey boys and their friends were lying around the edge of the deep clear stream, waiting for a bite.
Bert was the first to jerk his line, and he brought it up with such force that the chubfish on his hook slapped Harry right in the face!
“Look out!” called Harry, trying to dodge the flapping fish. “Put your catch down. He’s a good one, but I don’t care about having him kiss me that way again.”
All the boys laughed at Bert, who was a green fisherman they said. The fish was really a very nice plump chub and weighed more than a pound. He floundered around in the basket and flapped his tail wildly trying to get away from them.
“I’ve got one,” called Tom next, at the same moment pulling his line and bringing up a pretty little sunfish. Now “sunnies” are not considered good eating, so Tom’s catch did not come up to Bert’s, but it was put in the basket just the same.
“I’m going out on the springboard,” August Stout announced, stepping cautiously out on the board from which good swimmers dived.
“You know you can’t swim, August,” said Harry, “and if you get a catch and jerk it you’ll tumble in.”
“Oh! I’ll be all right,” August answered, lying down flat on the narrow springboard and dropping his line.
For a time all the boys lay watching for a bite. No one spoke, for sometimes they say fish are very sensitive to sound and go in another direction if they hear a voice.
It was a beautiful July day, and perhaps the boys were a little lazy. At any rate, they all became so quiet the little woodpeckers on the trees went on with their work pecking at the tree bark as if no human being was in sight.
Suddenly there was a big splash!
“August!” yelled all the boys at once, for indeed August was gone from the springboard.
“Quick!” called Harry to his companions. “He can’t swim!”
The next minute the boy in the water came to the top and threw up his arm. But no one was near enough to reach it.
“Strike out, August!” yelled Bert. “We’re coming,” and one boy after the other dropped in the water now, having thrown off their heavy clothing.
“Oh, where is he?” screamed Bert in terror, for no movement on the water’s surface showed them where August was.
“Here!” cried Tom Mason, who was quite a distance out. “Here he is! Help! come quick!”
No need to urge the boys to hasten, for all realized the danger their companion was in.
“Don’t pull down, August,” went on Tom. “Try to help yourself, or you’ll pull me under.” Harry had around his neck a strong piece of rope he picked up as he made a dive into the water.
“Take hold of this,” he called to August, “and we can all pull.”
As the rope was put in August’s hand the other boys all took hold and soon towed the unfortunate boy in.
“He’s very weak,” said Harry when they pulled August up on the shore. “I guess he has swallowed a lot of water. We better roll him on the grass and work his arms up and down. That will revive him.”
August was indeed very weak, and had had a narrow escape. For some time his companions worked over him before he opened his eyes and spoke.
“Oh!” he murmured at last, “I’m so sick!”
“I guess you are, August,” said Tom, “but you’ll be all right soon.” They lifted him carefully under a shady tree and removed his wet clothing.
“I’ll run over to Smith’s and get him something to wear home,” said Harry, who hurried across lots and presently returned with an old suit of clothes. August was able to dress himself now, and as soon as he felt strong enough the boys helped him home.
“You can have my fish, August,” said Bert nobly.
“And mine too,” Tom added. August did not want to accept the boys’ offers at first, but at last they prevailed upon him to do so.
“I think I fell asleep,” said he, referring to the accident.
“Guess we all did!” added Harry, “for we only woke up when we heard the splash.”
It seems the number of accidents country boys have only make them truer friends, for all the things that happened in Meadow Brook made each boy think more of his companions both in being grateful for the help given and being glad no dear friend’s life was lost.
CHAPTER XIII
Picking Peas
“Mother,” said Harry, using that loved name to show that what he was about to say was something important, “Peter Burns is sick. He has not been able to work since the cannon exploded and gave him the shock, and all his peas are spoiling because there’s no one to pick them. Mrs. Burns hired some boys yesterday, but they broke down so many vines she had to stop them; and, mother, would you mind if Bert and I picked some today? The sun is not hot.”
“Why, my dear,” replied Aunt Sarah, “it would be very nice of you to help Peter; he has always been a kind neighbor. I don’t think it would do you any harm to pick peas on a cool day like this. Bert can ask his mother, and if she is satisfied you can put on your play overalls and go right along.”
Both boys were given the desired permission, and when Tom and Jack heard where the Bobbseys were going they said at once they would go along.
“Are you sure your mother won’t mind?” Mrs. Burns asked the boys, knowing Harry’s folks did not need the money paid to pick the peas. “Of course I’m very glad to have you if your mothers are satisfied.”
Soon each boy had a big basket under his arm, and was off for the beautiful field of soft green peas, that stretched along the pond bank at the side of Mrs. Burns’ home. Now, peas are quite an expensive vegetable when they come in first, and farmers who have big fields of them depend upon the return from the crop as an important part of the summer’s income. But the peas must be picked just as soon as they are ripe, or else they will spoil. This was why Harry got his friends to turn in to help poor Peter Burns.
“I’ll go down this row and you take that.” suggested Bert to Harry. “Then we can talk to each other without hollering.”
“All right,” Harry replied, snapping the peas off the vines and dropping them into his basket like a real farmer.
“Let’s have a race,” called Tom. “See who gets his basket full first.”
“But no skipping for big ones,” put in Jack. “You have to pick every ripe one.”
The boys all started in at the top of the hill, each working two rows at a time. They were so interested in the race that scarcely a word was spoken. The peas were plentiful and ripe too, so that the baskets were filling up quickly. Mrs. Burns herself was picking, in fact she had been in the field since the very first peep of dawn, and she would be sure to stay out until the darkness would drive her in.
“You are fine pickers,” she told the boys, seeing how quickly they worked. “I pay ten cents a basket, you know.”
“I guess we can earn a dollar a day at this rate,” laughed Tom, whose basket was almost full.
“I’m done,” called