ON TMOOSEHEAD LAKE 127 



made ready. We start for the brook which seems 

 to be murmuring an invitation, only to run against 

 a very formidable obstacle in the shape of the 

 Maine game law. " All streams flowing into 

 Moosehead Lake are closed indefinitely." Only 

 nine words gently spoken by the landlord, but they 

 were of tremendous significance. A journey half- 

 way across the continent to fish streams that cannot 

 be fished. The arm of the fisherman is palsied, 

 and his tongue cleaves to the roof of his mouth. 

 Is this the end of all his bright visions? A dark- 

 ness like that of Egypt settles down upon him, and 

 all joy flees from his heart. Silently he anathema- 

 tizes the railroad companies for failing to find 

 space in their attractive circulars for this important 

 piece of information. But just when his gloom is 

 deepest, a ray of light appears. " Do you see 

 that red post?" says the landlord, pointing down 

 the stream. " That marks the boundary between 

 the brook and the lake. Below it you can fish to 

 your heart's content." 



Really, it was not as bad as might be supposed. 

 Fish love the mouth of a stream, and this mouth 

 was of generous proportions and largely patronized 

 by the trout. Many a happy hour we spent on that 

 stretch of water below the post. Possibly, in the 

 eagerness of pursuit, the fly sometimes fell over 

 the line into the forbidden waters ; but it is not easy 

 to determine the exact location of an invisible 

 boundary, and the trout had no business to gather 



