CHAPTER IX. 

 THE DRAWING OF THE SEINE. 



There are moments of extreme felicity in the life of 

 a naturalist, and one of them is at the drawing of the 

 seine. For how long had I looked at the broad, blue 

 expanse of Poaetquissings, near the mouth of Back 

 Creek ! While sitting on the little beach at the Sand 

 Point, how much I have wondered what strange creatures 

 might be beneath that glassy surface. To be sure, I 

 had peered into these depths so often that I knew every 

 pebble and water-logged tree on the bottom. Still, I 

 imagined it the home of creatures unknown to me, and 

 possibly of patriarchs of those that were known. I had 

 dreamed of ten-pound pike and monster catfish — now 

 the reality was at hand. A net, such as had never be- 

 fore been used in the creek, was in place. Encircling a 

 large and deep portion of the stream, it was being slow- 

 ly drawn to shore, and steadily narrowing the range 

 of the life within its contracting boundaries. lEow my 

 heart leaped as angry pike struck wildly at the cork 

 line, and a myriad of shiners rippled the muddied 

 waters. Now and then some black, smooth, shining ob- 

 ject loomed up, as though a small whale was about to 

 breach. A bit of wood, merely, but so lifelike in its 

 movement that to ignore it was impossible. Nearer 

 and nearer the lines approach the shore, and carefully 



