All was at
once excitement.
"Down mast and sail!" "Reel in the line!" "Hold the boat with the
oars!" "Don't let him break away!"
Steadily he is hauled, kicking and rolling over in the water, and at
last he is safely lifted into the boat--a fine, silvery, speckled
trout.
"What a dinner he will make!"
"How would you like him, grilled, fried, or boiled?"
Alas! we thought a good deal about what sort of dinner he would make.
And he did make a dinner, too--but not for us!
We presently heard Bruce crunching and munching something. He had not
waited for the fish to be fried, or grilled, or boiled. He just ate
him as he was. We only had bread and butter and coffee for dinner that
day--without any trout. We didn't even mention trout during the meal.
We didn't seem to want any, or we pretended we didn't.
Still, we had a very jolly dinner at a beautiful spot where we landed
on the shore of the lake. Then after a further bit of sailing and
rowing we reached the end of the lake.
Here we hauled up our boat high and dry, leaving all her gear in her,
for nobody steals things in Norway.
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