The Wages of Sin 



jarring the log jam, and introduced the most effective 

 of all pickerel baits to that pool. 



Of course, Grandpa Pickerel himself had to be 

 there, and be hungry, and see that frog. And, in less 

 time than it takes to write about it, I was fighting what 

 seemed to my boyish eyes and arms the King of All 

 the Pickerel. It was a proud little Sabbath-breaker 

 who finally grassed that fish. Do not ask me what it 

 weighed. I never knew, and I refuse to estimate. 

 It was a lordly pickerel, and it was mine. But was it 

 mine after all? I never once thought of the possibility 

 of taking that fish back to Grandma McKay's on Sun- 

 day afternoon. No, indeed! Just what dire punish- 

 ment would be thought suitable for my lapse from 

 virtue as evidenced by the possession of a pickerel 

 caught on the Sabbath I did not exactly know, but I 

 was sure the least I could look for was not to be 

 invited by any sensible boy. It might be that I would 

 be forbidden to fish for a week, or something almost 

 as cruel, unusual and much-to-be-avoided. No, I dared 

 not take the noble fish to the house. 



What to do ? The pickerel was still alive, and occa- 

 sionally gave proof of it as he breathed heavily in his 

 dire situation out of his element. 



" Why," I thought, " I'll stake him out here over- 

 night, go fishing tomorrow, and no one will know I 

 did not catch him on Monday, so I can really yet gain 

 the honors and applause amply earned, although on a 



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