The morning sunshine lay like shining silver on the placid bosom of beautiful Lake Sebasticook. Not a cloud hung in the blue sky, and it was a perfect summer morning, for the sun was not yet high enough to make the air uncomfortably warm.

Near the mouth of a stream that empties into the northern end of the lake floated a canoe that contained two persons who were fishing. The occupants of the canoe were Frank Merriwell and Bart Hodge. In the bottom of the canoe lay more than a dozen large white perch, glittering in the sunlight. That they were a fresh catch was evident, for they had not lost their silvery luster, and occasionally some of them flopped about in a frantic endeavor to get back into the water.

“Well, they are beauties!” cried Hodge, as he gazed at them in admiration; “and we did rope them in fast for a few minutes.”

“That’s what we did,” nodded Frank. “I wonder why they stopped biting so suddenly.”

“Don’t know. What are those splashes on the water over that way?”

“I know!” exclaimed Frank, suddenly beginning to reel in his line with great swiftness. “Pull in, Hodge—pull in!”

“What for?”

“Don’t ask questions! Pull in!”

Bart obeyed, and the boys quickly reeled their lines.

“Now,” said Frank, catching a paddle, “to get on the farther side of those splashes.”

“All right,” came from Hodge, as he got into position for using his paddle, kneeling in the canoe. “Here we go!”

The thin blades dipped and rose from the water, flashing in the sunshine. They plied the paddles with regularity and skill, making not the least splashing.

Frank steered, and he set a course that surprised Bart, who asked:

“Where are we going?”

“Round that splashing,” was the answer. “We want to get on the farther side.”

“Why are we going round?”

“To get ahead of those fish.”

“Why not go straight through?”

“We might divide the school, or cause the fish to sink. Those are the perch we struck a short time ago. A few of them were jumping then, and now the whole school is near the surface. Those fish are making for a feeding ground.”

In a short time they passed round the school and lay before them.

With great haste, Frank unreeled his line, baited his hook and flung it far from him. Hodge followed his example, but did not let the hook sink far before, seeing a great splashing in another direction, he began to pull in. He had not drawn the hook far before something took it with a jerk and darted away.

“Great Scott!” cried Hodge, excitedly. “What a bite!”

“Pull him in!” said Frank.

Hodge obeyed, and the fish darted from side to side, the line cutting into Bart’s fingers with the fierce plunges of the finny fellow.

Up to the side of the canoe Hodge pulled the fish. The bright sunshine showed something white that darted and plunged in a mad endeavor to break away, and then, at the last moment, seemed to give up exhausted.

Then, being able to see the fish plainly, Hodge stopped, uttering a gasp of astonishment.

“What is it, Merry?” he asked, in a flutter. “It can’t be a white perch, for it’s too big.”

“Pull it in, and then we’ll see.”

But Bart had slackened at the wrong time, and now the great fish gave a flop and escaped from the hook. There was a flash of silver plunging downward, and the fish was gone.

Bart was exasperated.

“What a stupid fellow I am!” he growled. “But that fish was so big! He was too large for a perch, and——”

Frank was drawing in his line to give it another throw. All at once, it gave a jerk and slipped through his fingers, then he began to pull away hand over hand, while the line cut here and there through the water.

“You have one!” cried Bart, excitedly. “Don’t let him get away as I did, Merry! Jingoes! but he is doing some fancy dodging!”

Up to the surface darted the fish and up into the air he leaped like a flash of light out of the water.

“Oh!” shouted Hodge, starting to rise in his excitement. “What a dandy!”

“Get down!” commanded Frank, quickly. “You will have this canoe bottom up if you do that again! It’s a wonder you didn’t turn her over then!”

“That’s so,” agreed Bart, who was familiar with the cranky tricks of canoes; “but I couldn’t keep still.”

Into the canoe Frank pulled his catch, and both lads stared at the fish, for it was larger than four of the large ones of their first lot.

“Can that be a white perch?” gurgled Hodge, amazed. “It doesn’t look just like the others.”

“Whatever it is, there are more out there,” said Frank. “Get after them, Bart. We’ll daze the fellows when we bring in a mess of these dandies.”

Hodge had arranged a tempting bait on his hook, and now he made a fancy throw that carried the whole length of the line out of the boat. The hook struck far away on the water and sank, while the fish Frank had caught flopped in the bottom of the canoe, stirring up the others to a merry, pattering dance.

“Pull in by the time your hook sinks three or four feet,” said Frank, looking after his own bait. “These big fellows are on the surface.”

Bart obeyed, and he had not drawn his hook a third of the way to the canoe before it was snapped up, bringing a little cry of satisfaction from his lips.

“Oh, this is sport!” he exclaimed. “I thought we had fun with those little fellows.”

“Those little fellows!” laughed Frank. “A short time ago you were calling them beauties.”

“They seemed so then, but these are so much larger—no you don’t, old chap!—and they are so much whiter! I hope we can get a big mess of them!”

Then Bart snapped into the boat a fish quite as large as the one Merriwell had caught. He held the shining beauty up and feasted his eyes on the spectacle a moment. Then the hook was removed, and the fish was tossed down to help stir up his gasping comrades.

By this time Frank had hooked another, and for fifteen minutes the fun was fast and furious. Once they were forced to pick up the paddles and get ahead of the school again; but finally, with amazing suddenness, the fish ceased biting.

“Where have they gone?” asked Bart. “I can’t see them jumping anywhere.”

“Nor I,” said Frank. “They have sunk. Let your line drop deeper before starting to pull in.”

But, although they tried various methods of fishing, they caught but two or three more, and those were not large ones.

“They are gone,” said Frank, regretfully; “but we have made a fine haul, Hodge. Won’t Browning kick himself, to think he did not get up and come with me when I awoke him this morning!”

“He won’t get over it all day, for he’d rather fish than do anything else—unless it’s sleep. It’s wonderful how lazy that fellow is.”

“But he can fight. He’s got so he wants to fight my battles now. Why, he was going to dip in over at Camp Benson last night when that fellow, Welch, from Newport, took a fancy to punch me for dancing with his girl.”

“He told me about it, and he said Welch was backed by a big, bewhiskered ruffian who was all ready to hit you from behind. That was why he got into the game. It was a plain case of a crooked attempt to do you up, but Browning spoiled the trick.”

“I saw the man, and I was on guard for him. Welch swore he’d do me, and he’s just the kind of fellow who will try to keep his word. He is a ruffian, but is cowardly. I do not believe he would hesitate to kill a man if he was in a rage and thought he might escape punishment for——”

The report of a gun reached their ears, and, at the same moment, something came rattling against the side of the canoe.

Hodge uttered a cry of pain.

“I’m shot!” he exclaimed.