Ned, the son of Webb: What he did.

  CHAPTER III.

  A VERY WIDE LAKE.

  "This is the coolest place there is in the house," remarked Ned, as helooked around the library that hot June afternoon. "Grandmother andthe rest of them have gone out to the Sewing Society. What a fuss theymade! As if a bit of a swim could hurt me!"

  The shelves and cases were crowded with books, and at first he didnothing but lie in a big wickerwork chair, and stare at them.

  "No," he said, aloud, "I won't do any reading, not in such a swelteringday as this is. I can get out that Norway book, though, and look at thepictures."

  He pulled it out, and lugged it to the table, with a strong impressionupon his mind that it was a book to be carried around in January ratherthan in June.

  "It never will be a popular book for boys," he remarked of it. "Not forsmall boys."

  Open it came, and he began with a study of the abundant illustrations.They were fine, and they stirred him up, by degrees, until he began tofeel a growing interest in the reading matter scattered along amongthem. It was all in large type, so that the pages might be conqueredeasily, one after another. Before long he found himself entirelyabsorbed in the narrative of the old Norse times.

  "Curious lot of men they were," he remarked, "those Vikings. How theydid seem to enjoy killing their enemies and cutting each other's headsoff! They'd steal anything, too. Tell you what, though, if I'd beenwearing one o' their coats of mail when Nanny pitched me into thelake, I'd ha' gone to the bottom like a stone. I wonder if any of 'emcould swim in their armour? I don't believe they could. Most likelythey took it off if they were going to be wrecked anywhere. A fellow ina steel shirt ought to have some life-preservers handy."

  More and more intense became his interest as he went on, and at abouttea-time his grandfather came in.

  "What, Ned?" asked the old gentleman. "Are you at it yet? That's allright, but I can't let you do too much of it. You must spend all thetime you can in the open air. You may read this evening, but to-morrowmorning you must go fishing. You may take a book with you."

  "I'll take along this one, then," said Ned. "I can read between bites."

  "That's what I do sometimes," said his grandfather. "I think itaverages about two books to each fish, but a pike pulled a dictionaryoverboard for me, once."

  "What did he want of a dictionary?" asked Ned. "Did you hook him?"

  "Yes, I pulled him in," said the old gentleman, "but the book went outof sight. It's going to be too warm for trolling for pike."

  "I guess so," said Ned. "I'm going to find some grasshoppers."

  "They're the right bait," said Grandfather Webb. "Better than worms.The lake is full of bullheads. So is the wide, wide world. I've beenout there, just now, talking to one of 'em. He's an Englishman.He's been beating me out of ten dollars, and he won't understand myexplanation of it. He insists on keeping the ten."

  "That's like 'em," said Ned. "I'd like to conquer England. Uncle Jacksays that if I did they'd lock me up in the station-house."

  "That's what they'd do," said his grandfather. "Anybody that invadedEngland would be arrested at once. They'd convict him, too, and makehim buy something of 'em."

  "I don't care," said Ned, "I'm going there, some day. It's aboutthe greatest country in the world. I'm going to see London, and theforts, and the ships. The English soldiers and sailors can fight likeanything. They can whip anybody but Americans."

  "Come to supper!" commanded his grandfather; "then you may go onwith your book. I'm afraid, though, that if you were in command ofthe _Kentucky_ you'd try to steam her all over England, across lots,without minding the fences."

  At the supper-table Ned was compelled to hear quite a number of remarksabout swimming in Green Lake.

  "He'd better try that colt in a buggy, next time," said Mrs. Emmons."She's skittish."

  "She likes a buggy," remarked Uncle Jack. "Pat lent her to one of hisbest friends, last week, to drive her a mile or so for exercise. Shedidn't stop short of Centreville Four Corners. The buggy's there, now,in the wagon-shop getting mended, and Nanny came home alone, quiet as alamb."

  "I guess Edward may drive one of the other horses," said hisgrandmother. "Pat'll pick out a quiet one."

  "I'd want a buggy, or something," said Ned, "if I was to take that bigbook of grandfather's with me. I never saw such pictures, though. Loadsof 'em."

  "Read it! Read it!" said his grandfather. "When you get through withit, you'll know more'n you do now."

  They let him alone after that, and talked of other affairs. He wasquite willing to keep still, and he got away from the table beforeanybody else. There was a growing fever upon him to dive into thatfolio and to find out how the story fitted the pictures. No onehappened to go into the library until about eleven o'clock, and he wasthere alone. Then old Mrs. Emmons herself was hunting everywhere fora ball of yarn she had lost, and she tried the library. Ned was notreading when she came in. He was lying stretched half-way across thetable, sound asleep, with his head on the open book, and the cat curledup beside it.

  "I had to shake him awake," she reported afterward, "and the catfollowed him when he went up-stairs to his room."

  Nevertheless, he was awake again not long after sunrise, next morning,and hurried out on a bait hunt. Before breakfast he had done well asto angleworms, but not so well as to grasshoppers. Of these he hadcaptured only six, shutting them up in a little tin match-box.

  "Now, then," said his grandfather, when they came out of the housetogether, after breakfast, "here's your rod. Three good lines. Plentyof hooks and sinkers. The boat's down there at the landing."

  "I saw it when I swam ashore," said Ned. "It's a scow-punt and it isn'tmuch bigger'n a wash-tub."

  "It's better than it looks," replied the old gentleman. "I saw four menin it once, and they went half-way across the lake before it upset withthem."

  "Did any of 'em get drowned?" asked Ned.

  "No," said Mr. Webb, "not more'n half drowned. I was out in anotherboat with Pat McCarty, trolling, and we fished in all four of 'em. Youneedn't get upset unless you try to carry Nanny or some of the boys.I'd rather you'd not have any company. Safer!"

  "I don't want any of 'em along," said Ned. "I'd rather be alone. ThenI can read while I'm waiting for fish. You said I could take that bigbook."

  "All right, you may," said his grandfather. "Put it into your bait-box.Be sure you bring it home with you."

  Away went Ned, and his grandfather turned back into the house, laughing.

  "He'll think twice," he said, "before he lugs that folio to Green Lake,this hot day. He won't take it."

  He was only half right, for Ned had already thought twice, at least,and had decided what to do.

  He had found a small, lightly made garden hand-cart, two-wheeled,and when he set out for Green Lake all his baggage was in the cart,including the book, the angleworms, and the grasshoppers. He succeededin getting away quietly, too, without giving Pat or anybody else achance to ask him if he expected to need a wagon to bring home his fish.

  It was getting very warm before he was half a mile from the house, forJune days always grow warmer, rapidly, if you are shoving a hand-cart.

  "It was a good lift to get the book in," thought Ned. "I wish I'dgreased the wheels."

  The boat lay idly at the shore when he reached the landing-place. Apair of oars lay in it, but he saw also something which pleased himmuch more.

  "Mast and sail!" he shouted. "Who'd ha' thought of that! Hurrah!"

  There they lay, a short mast, truly, and a mere rag of sail, with aboom and sprit all ready for use.

  "I know how," thought Ned. "I can step the mast and hoist the sail,myself. Then I can tack all over the lake, without any hard worka-rowing."

  His first undertaking, however, was to get his huge folio volume intothe boat and not into the water. He succeeded perfectly, with someeffort. Then he stepped his bit of a mainmast, as he called it,through the hole bored for it in the forward seat of the punt. It wasplain that he knew something about nav
al affairs, for he spoke ofhis snub-nosed cruiser as a "catboat," and regretted that she had no"tiller."

  "JUNE DAYS ALWAYS GROW WARMER, RAPIDLY, IF YOU ARESHOVING A HAND-CART."]

  "She hasn't any anchor, either," he said, "except a rope and a crookedstone. She has a keel, though, and there are thole-pins in herbulwarks, starboard and port. She's higher at the stern than she is atthe prow, and I'm afraid she'd be a little cranky in a ten-knot breeze.She isn't ballasted to speak of, and I'd better keep her well beforethe wind. That's a little nor'west by north, just now."

  However that might be, he pushed his gallant bark out from the shore,sitting in the stern, and shoving the land away with the rudder,--thatis to say, with one of the oars.

  The sail was already up, but it was a question to be answered howhe could have told the direction from which the wind was coming orwhere it was going. To any ordinary observer, not an old salt nor thecommander of a line-of-battle ironclad, it looked as if the wind hadnot yet reached Green Lake. It had very likely paused somewhere, in thevillage or over among the woods.

  "I'll have to row at first," he remarked. "I think I can see a rippleout yonder. Where there's a ripple, there's wind, or it may have beenmade by that pickerel when he jumped out after something. If he'llbite, I'll pull him in."

  Rowing is, after all, easy enough work when there is no hurry and theboat is nearly empty. Ned pulled gently on his oars, and the boom andsail swung to and fro as she slipped along. Pretty soon she reached andwent through the ripple made by the pickerel, leaving behind her othersthat were larger, but which did not indicate wind.

  "I'd give something for a catspaw," he said, remembering anothernautical term. "I needn't furl the mainsail. She can drift to looard,if she wants to, while I try for some fish. If it's true that thislake hasn't any bottom, it won't pay to cast anchor. There isn't cableenough in that coil to do any good."

  He ceased rowing. He put his joint rod together, and fitted on hisreel, ready for sport. The bait question was decided against worms andin favour of grasshoppers, with regret that he had so few.

  "Now," he said, "I don't much care whether it's to be a bass or apickerel."

  No choice was given him, for in only a minute or so more a handsomeyellow perch came over the side of the boat to account for onegrasshopper.

  "That fellow'll weigh a pound, more or less," he said. "I don't wantany pumpkinseeds, though."

  That, however, was the kind of fish he pulled in next. Shortlyafterward he had the usual unpleasantness belonging to the unhooking ofa large, fat, slippery-skinned bullhead. He was really making a verygood beginning indeed, considering what was the established reputationof Green Lake.

  "Uncle Jack said it was fished out," he said to himself. "I guess thereare more shiners and pumpkinseeds than anything else. Hullo! Here comesa big one!"

  What seemed to be a tremendous tug at his hook held on vigorously as hehauled in his line. The excitement of that strong bite made him tingleall over.

  "Pickerel!" he shouted. "Or a big bass, or maybe it's a pike or a laketrout. What will Uncle Jack say, now?"

  In a few moments more he was sadly replying, on behalf of his uncle,"Nothing but a cod-lamper eel!"

  Soaked bush branches and pond weed are hard to pull in, and theyare good for nothing in a frying-pan. A fisherman's gloomiestdisappointments come to him in the landing of them.

  Another grasshopper was put on, and another cast was made. The bullheadflopped discontentedly on the bottom of the boat. So did the perch, nowand then, but there were no other signs of fish life during the nexthalf-hour, with the sun all the while growing hotter.

  "I'll stick my rod," thought Ned, "and throw out another line, with aworm. Then I'll read till I get a bite. I think it's coming on to blowa little. I can see signs of weather."

  So he could, really. Hardly were his two hooks and lines in thewater before what some people romantically term a zephyr came gentlybreathing along the placid lake. It soon grew even strong enough tomake itself felt by the drooping sail, but Ned remarked, as he liftedhis eyes from his book illustrations:

  "That canvas doesn't bend worth a cent. I needn't take in any reef justnow. Let her spin along. Hullo! The boat's beginning to move!"

  He felt more and more sure of that while he again bent over the folio,opened out upon the middle seat, with an old starch box behind it forhis accommodation. The breeze had come, what there was of it, but heshortly forgot all about winds and fishing, while he turned page afterpage of that book, and took in more and more of the meaning of thepictures. The sail was now filled well. There were larger and largerwavelets on the lake, but there came no fish-bites to interrupt Ned'sreading. He had no idea for how long a time he had been sailing on,without noticing anything whatever around him. At last, however, thewind grew strong enough to turn one of his book-leaves for him, and heonce more raised his head.

  "I declare!" he exclaimed. "This bit of a gale is freshening. I'll haulon the main sheet, and bring her head to the wind. She's leaning over alittle too much. If a gust or a squall should come on, she might turnturtle."

  He evidently knew what it was best to do under such circumstances, andhis next exclamation was uttered with even stronger emphasis. He was,of course, doing something in the steering line with his paddle-rudder,and he had taken occasion to look back along the wake of his dashingscow.

  "What's this? Who ever knew that Green Lake was so wide? I can't seethe other shore, toward our house. There isn't another boat in sight,either. If I expect to get home to-night, it's about time I went about,and headed southerly. This is a curious piece of business. I'll take inmy lines, right away."

  He shut up his book at once. There was even an anxious tone in hisvoice, and an exceedingly puzzled look upon his face. It was such,perhaps, as the captain of a line-of-battle-ship might wear uponfinding his huge fighting machine in unknown or difficult navigation.Any experienced nautical man would have been able to comprehend Ned'sunpleasant situation. That is, perhaps so, if it had been at allpossible to know what was the precise nature of the circumstances.

  The lines came in fast enough and Ned knew how to tack, if that wereindeed the correct thing for him to do next. Now, however, came asecond discovery, almost as perplexing as the first. Behind him was awide waste of water without a visible shore, but he was by no means outof sight of land when he turned to look ahead. The northerly shore ofthe lake was near, and it was rapidly drawing nearer.

  "This is tremendous!" he remarked, and he took a tin cup out of histackle-box, expressing a hope that the lake water might not prove toowarm to drink.

  He leaned over the side of the boat, still gazing shoreward, scoopedthe cup full, and began to drink like a very thirsty fellow.

  "Faugh! Phew!" he suddenly sputtered, and a vigorous, choking, coughingspell followed. "What's this? Salt water? How did Green Lake getsalted!"

  He tasted again, as if to make sure, and then he looked around himutterly bewildered. The shore was all the while drawing nearer, and thewater in his cup was of the peculiar brackish flavour that belongs tothe great seas.

  "Mountains?" he murmured. "I knew there were high hills over this way,but I never was told of anything like this. Right along shore, too.Why, that cliff there's as high as a church steeple. Higher. That's aneagle, too, circling around over the top of it."

  Was one side of Green Lake salt and the other fresh, or had it in somemysterious way broken through and become connected with the Atlantic?It even occurred to him to wonder, vaguely, if the lake had joined theocean in such a way that ships, the _Kentucky_, for instance, couldever come steaming in, firing salutes and astonishing all the countrypeople. His head was all a buzz of perplexing questions, but he managedto keep hold of his rudder, and speed onward toward the land. In fact,the wind was now very good, and the punt was running rapidly.

  "Yonder," he remarked aloud, "is the mouth of a kind of inlet. Thosecliffs on each side of it are awful. They're almost perpendicular. Itmakes a fellow think of some of thos
e pictures of Norway fiords, in thebook. The best thing I can do is to steer right in and find out what itis. Tell you what, though, I've sailed farther than I'd any idea of."

  He still had some distance to go before reaching the opening betweenthe tall cliffs, and his eyes were busy. He tried the water yet again,curiously.

  "I know what sea water is," he thought. "I tried it once, out in NewYork Bay. This tastes salter than that did. Hullo! Those are porpoises,tumbling around out yonder. I've seen porpoises before, off LongIsland, when I went bluefishing with Uncle Jack. I wish he were here totell me what all this amounts to. He knows a heap."

  Perfectly stupendous were those beetling promontories between which theboat sailed in. They must have been several hundreds of feet in height.Here and there, in the clefts and crevices of their rugged sides andalong their summits, grew gigantic pines and fir-trees.

  "I'll put away the book," he said, "in the locker under the back seat.I'm going ashore. I want to find somebody that can tell me what thismeans. I won't go home till I know all about it. This isn't any kind ofcove, though. It runs away in."

  So it did, narrow and deep, and it wound around a rock corner, shortly,so that all view of Green Lake behind him was cut off. It was almostcool in there, as well as shadowy, and Ned felt a kind of shudder goingover him. He was not exactly afraid, but his heart was beating morequickly than usual. He had put away the folio with great care, and allof its four hundred and seventy-five splendid illustrations seemed tobe running through his memory like a river in a flood-time, after arousing rain-storm.

  "There!" he exclaimed, at last. "There's a landing-place! I can seeboats and men and women. Away off yonder, up the slope, houses enoughfor a village. Hullo! That's a ship at anchor."

  Beyond the village, as far as his eyes could search, were moremountains, covered half-way up with forests, but right here before himthe fiord widened so as to make a small cliff-guarded harbour of thesafest kind. It was really a very beautiful place to visit, if Ned hadbeen at all able, just then, to admire scenery.

  "Who would have thought," he exclaimed, "that a fellow could get tosuch a thing as this is, just by crossing Green Lake!"