The trip down brought no more response from the fish than before, although now and then commotions near the grass gave proof that there were fish to be caught.
“Certainly I am going to get some pointers from Bunte before I try again,” groaned Clem as she extracted the hook from a mass of weeds. “Well, I am going to rest. I might as well plan what I am going to have for dinner. I suppose that Dave and Tom will never let up on their teasing.”
She left the fish line coiled on the back seat and eased herself into the bottom of the boat with a sigh of relief. A summer of fishing seemed less like a wonderful lark than it had appeared yesterday.
Just beyond the near-by grass line was the beginning of the mud flats that ran for three hundred feet to the gravel beach now that the tide was low. B
