In Angling Time 



pie, sauced with the wild hunger of the 

 woods. 



In the middle of the golden afternoon 

 you un joint your rods, slip them into their 

 cases, gather some fresh ferns, and sit down 

 by the stream to wash your trout, count 

 them, and lay them daintily back in their 

 bed of ferns. It has been a sweet, happy 

 day, and you have taken fish enough for a 

 good meal on the home table, and for grand 

 father and grandmother, and for Uncle 

 Ned's folks. Let us be thankful for God's 

 bounty, and not abuse it. Now for a little 

 rest and more happy talk by the cool water. 

 Then we will tramp home by another road 

 through fresh scenes; and as we near the 

 village the same birds that sang us forth 

 with their matins will welcome us sweetly 

 back with their vespers. What a good 

 world it is ! How it beats with the heart of 

 God if only one listens always as closely 

 and as lovingly as one does in angling time ! 



45 



