ON A GLASS ROOF 133 



"Hah! Dis pooty col'," he said, beating his 

 breast with his red hands. "T Ah feesh here 

 mauch. Ah have haouse. But prob'ly Ah won't, 

 prob'ly Ah will." 



He told me that wherever on the lake his breth- 

 ren make a business of winter fishing it is done 

 mostly in little board huts, which are moved out 

 upon the ice when it has fairly made for the season, 

 and hauled ashore before the spring break-up. 

 In these little houses the fisherman spends his days 

 and nights, for they are very comfortable, being 

 banked with snow and furnished with a stove and 

 bunk. A movable floor-board gives access to the 

 fishing-hole beneath. This is the hatchway to a 

 noble common cellar, reaching from Wood Creek 

 to the Richelieu in length, and in width from Ver- 

 mont to New York State, stored with plenty of 

 food and drink of the wholesomest. It must be a 

 cozy way of fishing, and, I thought, would suit me; 

 for if, as it seemed, I was to get no fish, I might take 

 my bad luck comfortably and shut out from prying 

 eyes — keep it unknown to any but myself and the 

 fish. My new acquaintance told me much of his 

 affairs, of his luck in fishing at all seasons, of the 

 money he had earned in haying and in chopping, 

 and bragged of his wonderful horse: 



"He worse more as ^wndred dollar. T you 

 want heem go slow, he go slow 1 'F you want heem 

 go fas', jus' de same! Yas, sir." 



