104 DAYS IN THE OPEN 



hinted at some of the things missed by those who 

 were not there. Dixon's Mill! How the nerves 

 of the right arm tingle just at the writing of those 

 two words! It was thereabouts that some of the 

 greatest days of the summer were spent, for the 

 pond above the mill and the pool below furnished 

 unfailing supplies of noble trout. The pond was 

 bordered on one side by a steep hill, clothed from 

 water's edge to summit with sombre fir. On the 

 other side were the miller's garden and the meadow. 

 One afternoon the Judge paddled the Preacher 

 about this pond while the latter industriously 

 whipped the water with his flies. A more respon- 

 sive congregation that Preacher never had. They 

 slept not nor slumbered, but were up and coming 

 from introduction to " finally." Twenty-three 

 trout, filling a fifteen-pound creel, were the fruits 

 of his joyous toil. Then, just as the sun had gone 

 down behind the fir trees and the night shadows 

 began to thicken, we addressed ourselves to the 

 waiting throng below the mill. There were quick 

 and constant responses, but they did not count in 

 comparison with the swirl made by one old veteran 

 as he lunged at and missed the fly. Quickly the fly 

 was recovered and cast again, and still again, for 

 many a time. Had he been pricked ? Had he seen 

 his enemy even in the dim twilight ? No, for here 

 he is again, and this time his aim is sure. Back 

 and forth he rushes, the light rod bending in perfect 

 harmony to his movements, until the lusty foeman 



