52 FLY-FISHING IN MAINE LAKES. 



I knew he was an old hero, but I hardly thought 

 him so large as that. After calmly surveying the 

 situation I tapped the butt of my rod with my ringer, 

 and he quickly responded with a whirl of the reel ; 

 at least seventy feet of line did he take before com- 

 ing to a halt ; then he turned, and came towards us, 

 I gathering in the slack as fast as possible ; fortu- 

 nately he was so well hooked that I felt safe : now 

 he took several swift turns around the boat within 

 twenty feet of us, then off again with at least 

 eighty before I dared check him. This amusement 

 on his part was kept up, as my guide suggested it 

 might be, for just about half an hour ; when as the 

 sun had sunk behind the hills, and darkness was 

 coming on, I began to feel slightly nervous, and a 

 strong desire to see my fish safely landed ; and to 

 this intent I cautioned my guide to be ready with 

 the net, as he seemed now disposed to come to 

 terms, and indeed allowed me to reel him in in a 

 very quiet and sensible manner. " Now, then, stand 

 ready with your net," and the sure-handed, quick- 

 sighted one who scarce ever lost me a fish stood 

 ready for his work when, with a plunge and a 

 rush, my anticipated trophy broke the water, turned 

 over on its surface, snapped the casting-line, and 

 disappeared beneath the calm waters of Trout Cove. 

 I sat down upon the thwart of the boat, and my 



