162 FISHING WITH THE FLY. 



it meandered southward for ten miles through a moun- 

 tain valley to its confluence with the second fork of 

 Pine Creek, six miles of the distance being through a 

 forest without settler or clearing. 



The stream was swift, stony, and exceptionally free 

 of brush, fallen timber and the usual debris that is so 

 trying to the angler on most wooded streams. Then, 

 it was just the right distance from town. It was so 

 handy to start from the village in the middle of an 

 afternoon in early summer, walk an hour and a half at 

 a leisurely pace, and find one's self on a brawling brook 

 where speckled trout were plenty as a reasonable man 

 conld wish. 



Fishing only the most promising places for a couple 

 of miles ahyays gave trout enough for supper and 

 breakfast, and brought the angler to the "Trout- 

 House," as a modest cottage of squared logs was called, 

 it being the last house in the clearings and owned by 

 good-natured Charley Dayis, who never refused to en- 

 tertain fishermen with the best his little house afforded. 

 His accommodations were of the narrowest, but also of 

 the neatest, and few women could fry trout so nicely 

 as Mrs. Davis. True, there was only one spare bed, 

 and, if more than two anglers desired lodgings, they 

 were relegated to the barn, with a supply of buffalo 

 skins and blankets. On a soft bed of sweet hay this 

 was all that could be desired by way of lodgings, with 

 the advantage of being free from mosquitoes and 

 punkies. The best of rich, yellow butter with good 



