A DESULTORY PILGRIMAGE 35 



We reached the brook, we put our rods to 

 gether, and baited. &quot;Crawl, now,&quot; admon 

 ished Jonathan; &quot;they re shy fellows in those 

 open pools.&quot; We crawled, dropped in, and 

 waited. My teeth were chattering, my lips 

 felt blue, but I would not be beaten by a little 

 wet grass. After a few casts, Jonathan mur 

 mured, &quot;That s funny,&quot; and moved cau 

 tiously on to the next pool. Then he tried 

 swift water, then little rapids. I proceeded in 

 chilly meekness, glad of a chance at a little 

 exercise now and then when we had to climb 

 around rocks or over a stone wall. Occasion 

 ally I straightened up and gazed out over the 

 meadows those clammy meadows and 

 up toward the high woods, brightening into 

 the deep greens of daylight. The east was all 

 rose and primrose, but I found myself unable 

 to think of the sun as an aesthetic feature; I 

 longed for its good, honest heat. A stove, or a 

 hot soapstone, would have done as well. 



After a quarter of a mile of this I ventured 

 a remark &quot;Jonathan, you have often told 

 me of the delights of dawn fishing.&quot; Jonathan 

 was extricating his line from an alder bush, 

 and did not answer. I could not resist adding, 



