OUTDOORS 



ficial flies they were a retiring, rural kind 

 of fish, easily frightened, and yet hungry 

 after a rain but they certainly doted on 

 fish-worms. 



And with a red and circumlocutory fish- 

 worm on my hook I seldom failed to lure the 

 gaudily tinted trout from his most secret ref- 

 uge among the rocks. The brook was full 

 of bowlders, big and little, and the water was 

 usually about a couple of feet deep. I fished 

 downstream, and it was easy enough to get 

 twenty fair-sized trout in a morning's fishing. 

 Sometimes two good fish would be taken out 

 of one pool. 



There is nothing in out-door sport exactly 

 like the rush, tug, and get-away of a lusty 

 brook-trout. When he makes up his pisca- 

 torial mind that it is all right, he comes for 

 the twisting angle-worm like a hornet for a 

 small boy. He nails it, feels the barb, and 

 the trouble is on. He instantly develops a 

 wild yearning to climb trees, dig into the 

 banks, split the bowlders, pull the brook up 

 by the roots, spit out the hook, rasp the line 

 to a frazzle on the rocks, bolt through sub- 

 merged brush, and in numerous earnest ways 

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