IN THE JEWEL BOX 



a sort of giant stair of lesser stones. A step here, 

 a jump there, and we were on a flat-topped rock, 

 with room to cast, and over twenty feet of water as 

 clear as any diamond in the world. 



Old John chews tobacco and fishes with worms. 

 I have never seen on a human face an expression 

 of greater content than that on his as he sat down 

 and, reaching into his pocket for a plug of twist, 

 bit off one vast and blissful chew. 



There did not seem to be any trout at all. Out 

 beyond us the transparent water became less and less 

 so, until it reached a twilight zone of translucence, 

 fading into the opaque. I cast a long line out, as 

 far as I could reach, cast again and again. A grand 

 trout struck the fly and I brought him in steadily, 

 brilliant and beautiful as a whole casket of spilled 

 jewels. And back of him came a whole procession 

 of dark, graceful forms, converging from below, 

 beyond, and on every side! We had been on the 

 rock a couple of minutes and here were fifty trout 

 in sight! I need say little more. 



Old John and I took them out as we liked, me- 

 thodically, carefully, and reverently. I never saw 

 even the roughest man who did not have reverence 

 for a trout, and John was not one of the rough. We 

 stopped and admired them now and then, as anglers 

 will. The climax of our entertainment came when 



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