o'clock, one morning, and had taken two 

 good trout, which were all that the stream 

 promised ' to yield for the day. Then I 

 thought of a little pond in the woods over the 

 mountain, which looked trouty when I had 

 discovered it and which, so far a's I knew, 

 had never been fished with a fly. Led more 

 by the fun of exploring than by the expecta- 

 tion of fish, I started to try the new waters. 



The climb through the woods promised to 

 be a hard one, so I left everything behind 

 except rod, reel, and fly-book. My coat was 

 hung on the nearest bush; the landing-net 

 lay in the shade across a rock, the end of the 

 handle wedged under a root, and I dropped 

 my two trout into that and covered them from 

 the sun with ferns and moss. Then I started 

 off through the woods for the little pond. 



When I came back empty-handed, a few 

 hours later, trout and landing-net were gone. 

 The first thought naturally was that some 

 one had stolen them, and I looked for the 

 thief's tracks; but, save my own, there was 

 not a footprint anywhere beside the stream 

 up or down. Then I looked beside the rock 



