He had gone out to Bass Lake to fish, one day, in company with some other
boys, but they had put him out of the boat because he was too lazy to row
when his turn came. The others were rowing about, trolling for pickerel,
and he sat down on a point of land called "Duck Point," and went to
fishing. As the fish would not bite, he sat looking at them in the clear
water, and wishing that he was a fish--they had such a lazy time of it,
lying there in the sun, or paddling idly around through the water. He saw
a large pickerel lying perfectly still over a certain spot near the
shore. When other fish came near the pickerel, it darted out and drove
them off, and then paddled back to the same place again. Larkin dropped
his bait near by, but the fish paid no attention to it, and, indeed,
seemed to have nothing to do but to lie still in the same place.
"I wish I were a pickerel," said the lazy fellow; "I wouldn't have to
carry in wood or pull weeds out of the garden, or feed the chickens, or
get the multiplication table, or--or--do anything else;" and he gave one
vast yawn, stretching his mouth so wide, and keeping it open so long,
that it really seemed as if he never would get it together again. When it
did shut, his eyes shut with it, for the fellow was too lazy to hold them
open.
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