192 Mtisings by Camp- Fire and Wayside 



and back, blinded my eyes, and made me gasp for 

 breath. That's what Davies calls good trout-fish- 

 ing! Davies kept hold of me so I should not fall 

 on the green, slimy, and slippery rocks and led me 

 out to the water. I made a cast and the snell 

 danced away in the swirl, caught on something, and 

 I pulled it off — hook, leader, and sinkers, all went. 

 Then I began to edge off to some stairs I saw farther 

 down along the shore and slowly climbed out — two 

 hundred feet perpendicular of stairs, twisting out 

 and in among the rocks for a quarter of a mile. At 

 the top I turned to look for Davies. There he 

 stood, serene as Patience on a monument, pulling 

 trout out of the swirl. I am something of a fishing 

 crank myself, but I take off my hat to Davies. 



He told me a story about Dr. William C. Rob- 

 erts which I had not heard before. His father and 

 mother came from Wales, bringing a young family 

 of six children, of whom William C. was the eldest, 

 a lad of fourteen. The mother was stricken down 

 and died of cholera in New York, a day or two after 

 they landed. The father came down, and calling 

 William to his bedside, told him that in a few hours 

 he would be left in a strange land to care for his 

 little brothers and sisters. The heart-broken but 

 sturdy boy took the load on his young shoulders, 

 and carried it successfully. "Like boy, like man." 

 In talking of Dr. Roberts we agreed that this manly 

 beginning was worthy of the manly and highly use- 

 ful life that has followed. 



