Our first plantings of potatoes and early vegetables were now up and looked promising.  So a new phase of labor—­that of cultivation—­ began.  New broods of chickens were coming off, and Winnie had many families to look after.  Nevertheless, although there was much to attend to, the season was bringing a short breathing-spell, and I resolved to take advantage of it.  So I said one Friday evening:  “If to-morrow is fair, we’ll take a vacation.  What do you say to a day’s fishing and sailing on the river?”

A jubilant shout greeted this proposal, and when it had subsided, Mousie asked, “Can’t Junior go with us?”

“Certainly,” I replied; “I’ll go over right after supper, and make sure that his father consents.”

Mr. Jones said, “Yes,” and Merton and Junior were soon busy with their preparations, which were continued until the long twilight deepened into dusk.

CHAPTER XXIX

WE GO A-FISHING

The following day, happily, proved all that we could desire.  The children were up with the dawn, and Junior was not long in joining us.  By eight o’clock we had finished breakfast and the morning work, our lunch-basket was packed, and the market-wagon stood at the door.  Mr. Jones had good-naturedly promised to take a look at the premises occasionally to see that all was right.  I had put but one seat in the wagon for my wife and myself, since the young people decided that a straw-ride to the river would be “more fun than a parlor-car.”

My wife entered into the spirit of this little outing with a zest which gave me deep content.  Her face indicated no regretful thoughts turning toward the Egypt of the city; her mother love was so strong that she was happy with the children.  The robins, of which there seemed no end about the house, gave us a tuneful and hilarious send-off; the grown people and children whom we met smiled and cheered, following us with envious eyes.  Each of the children held a pole aloft, and Merton said that “the wagon looked as if our Lima-bean patch was off on a visit.”

In the village we increased our stock of lines and hooks, and bought a few corks for floats.  We soon reached the mouth of the Moodna Creek, where stood a weather-beaten boat-house, with a stable adjoining, in which old Bay could enjoy himself in his quiet, prosaic way.  A good-sized boat was hired, and, as the tide was in, we at first decided to go up the creek as far as possible and float down with the ebb.  This, to the children, was like a voyage of discovery, and there was a general airing of geography, each little bay, point, and gulf receiving some noted name.  At last we reached a deep, shaded pool, which was eventually dubbed “Bobsey’s Luck;” for he nearly fell into it in his eagerness to take off a minnow that had managed to fasten itself to his hook.