IN A FISHING COUNTRY 



Already buried fifty miles deep in the 

 Laurentian hills, sheltered from flies and 

 lying soft o' nights, with fishing on all 

 sides to satisfy any son of man, what 

 beckoned these two onward? Will the 

 phantom consent to appear before you 

 with compelling finger? If not, mine the 

 unskilful conjuring, or yours a wiser, 

 unenvied, incredulity. 



These many years; on the Jacques Car- 

 tier, the Montmorenci, the Murray; in 

 little lakes tucked away distantly among 

 the Charlevoix mountains; wherever great 

 trout leaped for us, fought and were sub- 

 dued; when the six- the seven- the eight- 

 pounders were being weighed, admired, 

 discussed ; always was there hovering in 

 the background a tradition of something 

 longer, deeper, heavier . . . 



'A grand trout that, Thomas.' 



'Magnifiqiiey 



'Such fish are rare.' 



1 res rares. 



'These waters can hardly show anything 

 better?' 



*It happens not often ; as for me, but once 

 have T seen. . .and back would we drift to 

 an October five and twenty years before, 



152 



