Alongside the mill there is a narrow, deep sluice. In this is arranged a large paddle wheel and, as the water rushes through, it acts on the paddles and turns the wheel. By a system of cogs the power is then transmitted to the grinding stone."

"That sure is fine," said Tom. "I don't know that I have ever had a chance to see a working mill at such close range. Just look how the water rushes through that sluice. I wouldn't like to get in the way."

"Nor I," said d.i.c.k. "The current must be very strong the other side of the dam."

"You bet your life it is. If anybody should get caught in it, I wouldn't give that," snapping his fingers, "for his chance of life."

At this moment a bald-headed, red-faced man appeared at the door of the mill. He regarded the boys with a broad smile on his face as he carefully dusted his hands on his white ap.r.o.n.

"Goot morning, young shentlemens," he said, affably. "Fine morning, fine morning, fine morning," and after each repet.i.tion of this sentiment he shook his head vigorously and his smile became broader.

"It is, indeed, sir," Bert said. "We stopped for a moment to see your mill in operation. It's a very fine mill," he added.

"Yah, yah," the big miller a.s.sented, cheerfully, "it's a very goot mill.

For over five year now by me it has worked. Von't you step on the insides for a minute, young shentlemens?"

"Sure thing," said Tom. "Come on, fellows. It isn't often you get a chance to see a real mill working. Old Pete can wait, I guess," and so, led by the good-natured Herr Hoffmeyer, the trio entered the mill.

For the better part of an hour they wandered around to their hearts'

content. The miller showed the working of the mill wheels, and led the way into every nook and cranny, explaining as they went.

At last, when they had seen everything there was to be seen, the boys thanked their host heartily, and started on their way once more. Before they rounded a bend in the road, they turned for a last look at the mill. At the door stood their erstwhile host, honest, round face shining like the moon, while the rays of the sun glanced off in little golden darts from the smooth surface of his bald head.

"Well, that was some adventure," Bert exclaimed. "I've always wanted to see the inside of a mill, and now I've realized my heart's desire."

"I like Herr Hoffmeyer, too," Tom said, "even if I did think he was a trifle weak in the head at first. Isn't this the pickerel stream?" he asked, a minute later.

"Yes, but the fellows say that the big pickerel is further down the stream. Come along." With these words, Bert led them down the bank until they reached a shady spot, shaded by spreading trees, and carpeted with green and velvety moss.

"This place looks good to me," said d.i.c.k; "let's camp here."

"I guess this ought to be about right," Bert agreed.

In a few minutes the reels were fixed, the hooks were baited, and the lines were lowered carefully into the clear depths of the stream.

"This is what you might call comfort," said Tom, as he leaned lazily against a convenient tree.

"Bet your life," Bert agreed.

"Now, if Pete will only consent to come along and get the hook, like any other respectable, right-minded fish, my contentment would be absolute."

"Huh," Tom grunted sarcastically. "He'd be likely to do that, wouldn't he, especially if you keep up this gabfest?"

"I guess a little polite conversation won't scare that wary old reprobate. I imagine he's heard so much conversation that couldn't be called exactly polite, especially when he calmly detaches the bait from the hook without stopping to leave his card, that he wouldn't mind our talk at all."

"Shut up," said Tom, in a low voice, "I've got a bite, and the line's pulling hard."

Then, amid a breathless silence, Tom gave a quick, experienced pull to the line, and landed--not the renowned old Pete, but a small-sized sunfish, that wriggled and twisted desperately in its efforts to get away.

At this minute Bert happened to glance at Tom's face, and the look he found there was so eloquent of absolute dismay and chagrin, that he burst into a shout of uncontrollable laughter, in which d.i.c.k joined him.

"That was sure one on you, old man," he said, when he had breath enough.

"Humph," Tom grunted, disgustedly, "it sure was a sell. I thought I had old Pete cinched that time. However," he added, "I don't see that you fellows have much to say. You haven't even caught a sunfish."

"Not so you could notice it," d.i.c.k agreed cheerfully. "There's plenty of time yet, though, and all things come to him who waits. I'm right on the job, when it comes to waiting."

Bert, who had been thinking his own thoughts, suddenly broke into the conversation with an irrelevant "Say, fellows, did you ever hear the story of the man who went for a sail on a windy day----"

"And a man coming out of the cabin asked him," Tom broke in, "if the moon had come up yet, and he answered, 'No, but everything else has'?

Yes, we've heard that old chestnut cracked before."

"Well, it just struck me," Bert mused, "that it fitted your case pretty well."

"I suppose it does, in a way," Tom admitted, "but you just wait and see if I don't land that old rascal before night."

"Go in and win, my boy, and take my blessing. It doesn't make much difference who does the catching so long as he is caught," d.i.c.k said, and once more leaned his broad back against the tree with a sigh of content.

But into Tom's head had come a scheme, and he determined to carry it out at the very first opportunity. For a long time the trio sat on the gra.s.sy bank, listening to the myriad indescribable sounds of spring.

They watched the gorgeous b.u.t.terfly as it winged its lazily graceful way from blossom to blossom, and heard the buzzing of the bee as it invaded the heart of flowerland, and stole its nectar. The perfumed air, hot from the touch of the sun, stole upon their senses, and made them delightfully lazy.

Suddenly, Bert gave a jerk to his line and landed a fair-sized pickerel.

Their luck had changed, and in a short time they had a very good mess of fish. But the great pickerel seemed farther from showing himself than ever.

Tom landed the next fish, but, instead of taking it off the hook, he threw the line, fish, and all back into the water.

"What's that for?" d.i.c.k asked. "We have plenty of bait left, and there's no use in wasting a perfectly good fish."

"Wait," Tom remarked, laconically.

They had not long to wait, however, for in a few minutes there was another jerk on Tom's line.

"Catch hold, fellows," Tom cried, "and help me pull. Gee, I can't hold it, much less pull it in."

Intensely excited, d.i.c.k added his strength to Tom's and pulled hard.

"Pull, pull!" Tom cried, almost crazy with excitement. "We can't lose him now. Come on! Come on!--now!"

And with one concerted effort they pulled the line up, falling over one another in their attempt to keep their balance. And there, at their feet, was the largest pickerel they had ever seen--old Pete. Quick as a flash, Tom landed on the prize, just in time to keep it from slipping back into the water.

"Look at him, look at him, fellows!" Tom shouted. "Here's old Pete, the biggest pickerel in the world, the wary old codger that has defied every fisherman for miles around, and has even eluded the deadly machinations of Si Perkins. Don't stand there like wooden statues--come here and help me unhook this old reprobate. Why don't you say something?"

"For the very good reason," Bert answered, drily, "that you haven't given us a chance. And for the second reason, I am so dazed I can't realize our good fortune."

"Our good fortune," Tom repeated, scornfully. "You mean my brains and common sense. Who thought of putting that fish back into the water to fool old Pete, I'd like to know?"

"You did, and we are perfectly willing to give you all the credit," said Bert. "The really important thing is that he's caught. I can hardly believe it yet. Isn't he a beauty?" he added, enthusiastically. "Look at the length of him, and the thickness---- Say, fellows, I bet we could feed the whole college on him for a month."

"I shouldn't wonder," Bert laughed. "I, for one, have never seen his equal, and never expect to again."