230 THE HALCYON IN CANADA. 



trout. It came none too soon. The interest had 

 begun to flag. But one big fish a week will do. It 

 is a pinnacle of delight in the angler's experience 

 that he may well be three days in working up to, 

 and once reached, it is three days down to the old 

 humdrum level again. At least it is with me. It 

 was a dull, rainy day ; the fog rested low upon the 

 mountains, and the tune hung heavily upon our 

 hands. About three o'clock the rain slackened and 

 we emerged from our den, Joe going to look after his 

 horse, which had eaten but little since coming into 

 the woods, the poor creature was so disturbed by the 

 loneliness and the black flies ; I, to make prepara- 

 tions for dinner, while my companion lazily took his 

 rod and stepped to the edge of the big pool in front 

 of camp. At the first introductory cast, and when 

 his fly was not fifteen feet from him upon the water, 

 there was a lunge and a strike, and apparently the 

 fisherman had hooked a bowlder. I was standing a 

 few yards below engaged in washing out the coffee- 

 pail, when I heard him call out : 



" I have got him now ! " 



" Yes ; I see you have," said I, noticing his bend- 

 ing pole and moveless line ; " when I am through, I 

 will help you get loose." 



"No; but I'm not joking," said he; "I have got 

 a big fish." 



I looked up again, but saw no reason to change 

 my impression, and kept on with my work. 



It is proper to say that my companion was a nov- 



