also has fishing lore enough in his frowsy 

 head if one could get it out to make 

 Izaak Walton's discourse like a child's bab- 

 ble. Whether the wind be south or north- 

 east, whether the day be dull or bright, he 

 knows exactly where the little fish will be 

 found, and how to catch them. 



When the young birds came, the most 

 interesting bit of Koskomenos' life was mani- 

 fest. One morning as I sat watching, hidden 

 away in the bushes, the mother kingfisher 

 put her head out of her hole and looked 

 about very anxiously. A big water-snake lay 

 stretched along a stranded log on the shore. 

 She pounced upon him instantly and drove 

 him out of sight. Just above, at the foot of 

 the trout pool, a brood of sheldrake were 

 croaking and splashing about in the shal- 

 lows. They were harmless, yet the kingfisher 

 rushed upon them, clattering and scolding 

 like a fishwife, and harried them all away 

 into a quiet bogan. 



On the way back she passed over a frog, 

 a big, sober, sleepy fellow, waiting on 

 a lily-pad for his sun-bath. Chigwooltz 



