258 DAYS IN THE OPEN 



and perch and eels abounded in this river, but it 

 was not famous for trout. In fact, this boy was 

 not fishing for trout and so was all the more 

 amazed when, after a sharp struggle, he landed a 

 speckled monster on the grassy bank. At least he 

 seemed a monster in size to the boy, and a conserva- 

 tive adult estimate would place the fish at well over 

 a pound. 



Now, failure to find berries appeared plainly 

 providential, for here was the empty pail and the 

 trout could be carried home alive. Under the porch 

 at the back of the house was a half -hogshead, set 

 into the ground, into which poured a little stream 

 of pure, soft spring water brought from the near- 

 by hillside through a lead pipe. Did a trout ever 

 have a more ideal place of residence? Here he 

 lived and thrived for many a day, fed with untiring 

 regularity until just here memory fails. Possibly 

 he died of old age. 



The boy had grown somewhat older and had 

 learned to make and use the " snare," when he went 

 on a visit to friends in Cortland. Cortland is a 

 thriving city now, and even then was a wide-awake 

 and bustling village; but its chief attraction to the 

 boy was its river the Tioughnioga. No sooner 

 had he said "How do you do?" to his relatives than 

 he hurried to the river bridge to snare suckers. 

 Now don't sniff, you owners of hand-made split- 

 bamboo rods and scorners of all fishing except that 

 for trout or bass! If you will just think back 



