CHAPTER XVI. 



PICKEREL-FISHING IN WINTER. 



| LA INLY, it happened in this way: 

 Tom had often driven by the pond 

 in summer ; and, occasionally stop- 

 ping to gather a handful of the 

 beautiful lilies that float upon its 

 surface, he one day met a hardy 

 tiller of the soil, with whom he chatted as he 

 tossed the fragrant flowers towards the sparkling 

 eyes in the carriage. 



" Pickerel, sir ! you can say pickerel. Why, 

 there's no eend to 'em, sir, if you takes 'em a 

 cloudy day when the moon is right." 



" Do they ever fish for them in the winter, my 

 friend?" 



" Well, not much. You see, the boys round here, 

 they likes smelting better ; and the city chaps, as a 

 gineral thing they don't much like fishing through 



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