THE NAMELESS CREEK. 71 



panting upon the surface. Jolm deftly passed the 

 landing-net under him, and the next minute he lay 

 amid his smaller brethren in the boat. I paused a 

 moment to admire. A bluish-black trout he was, 

 dotted with spots of bright vermilion. His fins, 

 rosy as autumnal skies at sunset, were edged with 

 a border of purest white. His tail was broad and 

 thick ; eyes prominent, moutli wide and armed with 

 briery teeth. A trout in color and build rarely 

 seen, gamy and stanch. Noosing on a fresh fly in 

 place of the one his teeth had mangled, I made 

 ready for another cast. Expecting much, I was not 

 prepared for what followed. 



Now, all ye lovers of bright waters and green- 

 sward, who lift a poor half-pounder with your big 

 trolling-rod and call it sport, listen and learn what 

 befell one of your craft at sunset at the pool of the 

 Nameless Creek. Nameless let it be, until she who 

 most would have enjoyed it shall, on some future 

 sunset, floating amid the lilies, cast flies upon its 

 tide. 



A backward motion of the tip, and a half-turn of 

 the wrist, and the three flies leaped upward and 

 ahead. Spreading themselves out as they reached 

 the limit of the cast, like flakes of feathery snow 

 they settled, wavering downward ; when suddenly 

 up out of the depth, cleaving the water in concert, 

 one to each fly, three trout appeared. At the 

 same instant, high in mid-air, their jaws closed on 



