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worms, grasshoppers, and seventeen -year 

 locusts ; but, in spite of all, he will go home 

 with a string of fish to make a scientific 

 sportsman die of envy. Ah ! there is a 

 strike indeed ! It must be the patriarch of 

 the pool who has risen to the locust so 

 deftly dropped just above his favorite sunk- 

 en rock. See him run up stream and down, 

 across, athwart, lashing the water into foam, 

 or leaping out of it until half his silver length 

 is visible ! The boy will never land him ? 

 Wait a bit, and see. He, too, is in the water, 

 wading up to his waist, slipping, stumbling, 

 it must be cutting his bare feet on the sharp 

 stones below, but too intent on his quarry 

 to heed it. He has no reel, but that does 

 not matter. A bit of stick serves to wind 

 the slack of the line, as inch by inch he 

 gathers it from the fighting, struggling creat- 

 ure. If the trout is game and wary, his 

 captor is cunning. Slowly, cautiously, he 

 heads for a little land-locked pool. The 

 trout darts into it, and dives for a friendly 

 root. The fisherman dives too, quite out of 

 sight, though the water is but three feet 

 deep. He comes up with a gurgling whoop 

 of triumph, and the big fish clasped to his 

 breast. Really he was worth the wading 

 not an ounce under two pounds, and with 



