DAYS IN THE OPEN 



river above the brook. For some time stories had 

 come up stream of the prowess of a big trout living 

 five miles down the stream in a mill pond. Con- 

 fident in his ability to whip anything that wore fins, 

 the Bully started down stream one May morning 

 bent upon challenging this far-famed warrior to 

 mortal combat. He had gone about one-half the 

 distance and had stopped to rest for a little in a 

 riffle, head up stream, when a strange looking fly 

 came hopping and dancing across the water. It 

 was many coloured, but that which attracted him 

 most strongly was its body, which shone like bur- 

 nished silver. Without the least hesitation, he 

 made a grab for it only to feel that same stinging 

 in the lip which followed upon his experience with 

 the crooked worm when he was a little fellow. 

 Fortunately for him he had touched the fly lightly, 

 and, while he felt a pull for an instant, it was only 

 in the skin of his lip, and that, for some strange 

 reason, was torn. He started down stream vowing 

 that never again would he snap at a fly with a silver 

 body. 



By the second morning he had reached the pond, 

 and found himself among strangers. It did not 

 take long for him to become involved in a scrap with 

 a trout of about his own size from which he quickly 

 emerged triumphant. Had the pond not furnished 

 seemingly unlimited supplies of fat chubs he 

 would have proceeded to give free rein to his 

 cannibalistic inclinations; but as it was less trouble 



