WOODLAND PATHS 



There is a fundamental joy in this kind 

 of fishing that you can get in no other. 

 If there were fish in the rivers of Para- 

 dise Adam caught them for Eve in this 

 way. I have always been sorry that big 

 John Ridd found nothing but fingerling 

 trout on his way up the little stream that 

 led to the Doone Valley. He should have 

 tackled our brook in April. 



Along the stream to-day, noting the 

 pussy-willows all out in spring garments 

 of pearl gray and the alders swaying 

 and sifting yellow dust from their open 

 stamens, I passed the spot where Bose 

 and I met as early a spring run of fish 

 as often occurs. Bose would corroborate 

 it if he could, but, unfortunately, Bose is 

 somewhat dead, as much so as a dog of 

 his spirit and imagination can be. His 

 bones lie decently buried down under the 



great oak where he loved to sit and think 

 98 



