42 DAYS IN THE OPEN 



had not reckoned on piloting a body of divinity on 

 a fishing trip and was somewhat dubious as to the 

 prospect. 



The road ended in Caine River, and for the five 

 miles farther to Blue Rock Pool there was nothing 

 for it but to take to the bed of the stream. It re- 

 minded one of driving over the cobble-stone pave- 

 ments of Albany, New York, only not quite so 

 much so. The Swedish movement which under- 

 takes to joggle you all over is not in it for efficiency 

 with such a ride. If there is any part of the anat- 

 omy that is unmoved by this wiggle and joggle it 

 must be in the domain of the " subliminal self." 

 When within sight of the destination it was found 

 that the Preacher's suit-case, in which he had a 

 change of underclothing, reel, flies, etc., had be- 

 come discouraged and dropped off. It was found 

 a mile down stream, resting against a rock, with 

 not a thing wet. " I'll set up the tent and git sup- 

 per while you go after 'em," said George, an ar- 

 rangement to which the Preacher promptly agreed. 

 The bamboo rod was put together, leader and flies 

 selected, and, just as the sun was touching the tree- 

 tops on the west bank of the river, the Preacher in- 

 truded upon the town-meeting. Hon. S. Maximus 

 Fontaine had just concluded a deal by which every- 

 thing was to go his way, when a strange and gaudy 

 insect alighted upon the surface of the pool and 

 went wiggling toward the shore. There was a 

 wild and unseemly scramble, but the honourable 



