140 FISHING WITH THE FLY. 



mon-fly. As it strikes the water twenty-five feet from 

 me there is a commotion. ' ' Ye gods and little fishes ! " 

 What was the fuss ? I cast again, and as true as I am 

 here if a number of trout did not jump clear out for that 

 fly, big as it was ! Hastily reeling in I put on a dun- 

 colored fly, and cast again ; the same jump and dash, 

 but no trout. Changing my flies until at last I put on 

 as a stretcher a ' e White Miller," I flung out clear be- 

 yond any former cast into the midst of what appeared 

 like a boiling spring. The fly dropped softly and out 

 came a host of trout. School kept just then, for I cer- 

 tainly had struck a school of trout. Striking, I fast- 

 ened into a fine fish ; reeling in, I dried my fly and cast 

 again and hooked again. The fun grew fast and furious ; 

 my little bamboo swished and bent ; hooks were snipped 

 off ; I was excited and jubilant, when along came an 

 itinerant parson. The twenty-five or thirty trout I 

 had, set him longing; he must fish. Jerking off his 

 boots, pulling up his pants, he waded into the icy cold 

 water equipped with a stick cut from the forest. He 

 had nosed out a line and some hooks from a supply I 

 had left on the bank in my fishing-case, and without so 

 much as "by your leave " began threshing the water as 

 close to the school as he could get his line ; this was 

 baited with a piece of dead fish. To say that I was dis- 

 gusted faintly expresses my feeling. I would have 

 ceased fishing, but my friend with whom I was stay- 

 ing said, "No, don't stop while sport is so good." 

 I put on a " Koyal Coachman " and cast out again, 



