Life on a Wisconsin Farm 



marvelous strength and speed. It lies in wait 

 for its prey on the bottom, perfectly motion- 

 less like a waterlogged stick, watching every- 

 thing that moves, with fierce, hungry eyes. 

 Oftentimes when we were fishing for some other 

 kinds over the edge of the boat, a pickerel that 

 we had not noticed would come like a bolt of 

 lightning and seize the fish we had caught 

 before we could get it into the boat. The very 

 first pickerel that I ever caught jumped into 

 the air to seize a small fish dangling on my line, 

 and, missing its aim, fell plump into the boat 

 as if it had dropped from the sky. 



Some of our neighbors fished for pickerel 

 through the ice in midwinter. They usually 

 drove a wagon out on the lake, set a large 

 number of lines baited with live minnows, hung 

 a loop of the lines over a small bush planted at 

 the side of each hole, and watched to see the 

 loops pulled off when a fish had taken the bait. 

 Large quantities of pickerel were often caught 

 in this cruel way. 



Our beautiful lake, named Fountain Lake by 

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