THE BROOK TROUT. 221 



fully to the right and left, to find, as he said, "some- 

 thin' fer bait. I want tcr find a potridge, ef I kin, though a 

 red squir'l '11 dew." 



As he spoke, a fine cock grouse rose near us and settled 

 on a branch, to be the next instant beheaded by the rifle of 

 my companion. 



"I'd a goo' deal ruther hev a potridge 'n a squir'l or a 

 meat-hawk," he said as, cutting from the leg of the luckless 

 bird a liberal portion, he proceeded to impale it upon the point 

 of a number 6 Limerick. Next he drew from beneath some 

 bushes a seasoned juniper pole, some seventeen feet in length, 

 attached thereto a "C" size line, spat on the bait, unmoored 

 the boat, and was ready for business. 



We pushed off a few yards and anchored. It was late in 

 the afternoon, a southerly breeze just rippled the water, 

 while the dull, gray sky, and the mournful soughing of the 

 wind among the pines bore token of a coming storm. 



Aleck dropped his bait into the water, while I cast my jay- 

 fly and gray hackle toward the mouth of the brook, drawing 

 them slowly across the ripples, but at first without success. 



"Hello!" said Aleck, "I've got the fust one." 



His fish was a large Trout, but broke away as he attempted 

 to raise it from the water; and almost at the same instant, 

 three or four Trout seemed to rise at once at the jay. One 

 was fast, and another seized the hackle instanter. Aleck 

 dropped his pole and looked on with much interest as 

 they dashed from side to side, I playing them, and they often 

 playing each other; for when one sounded, the other was 

 pretty sure to shoot upward. 



"Well," said the guide, after a long pause; "I never see a 

 pole buckle like that 'n afore." 



This was an English rod of ash and lancewood, which I 

 had bought since leaving home, in a tackle store in Boston. 

 It was a very light, and for those days, a very expensive one, 

 the best the vendor had. It weighed thirteen ounces, and 



