THE BOY AND THE BROOK 15 



He had thought that a cedar sapling, peeled and 

 thoroughly dried, made an ideal outfit, until a 

 friend gave him a straight cane-pole painted a bril- 

 liant blue. In after years he owned not a few 

 jointed rods, made by hand of split bamboo; but 

 the tide of joy and pride has never risen higher in 

 his heart than on the day when he became the pos- 

 sessor of the blue cane-pole. 



There is a place in the pasture-lot where the 

 brook stretches itself out in a long reach of still 

 water. Above and below are rippling shallows. 

 Wary as is his approach, the boy sees the shy trout 

 darting from the riffles into the darker water. 

 Patiently he dangles his baited hook by the side of 

 a sunken log, and trails it temptingly back and 

 forth before the coverts where the cunning fish lie 

 hidden, but all in vain. They have learned by ex- 

 perience that the presence of a blue jumper and a 

 blue pole spells out danger for them, and refuse to 

 take any risks. Is this, like so many other fishing 

 trips, to end in failure ? Watch the boy ! Laying 

 the blue pole carefully on the ground, he rolls his 

 sleeves to his shoulders and, lying on his stomach 

 on the bank of the brook, thrusts one hand very 

 gently into the water. With the utmost caution he 

 feels here and there under the overhanging sods 

 until at last his fingers touch something that sends 

 an electric thrill tingling through the length of his 

 little body. He feels a trout, and strangely 

 enough it does not stir. The little fingers gently 



