CHAPTER XIII 



TROUT OF THE LITTLE BKOOKS 



NOT every angler knows the fascination of lit- 

 tle streams, the whimsical meandering brooklets, 

 but those who do never gaze with longing eyes 

 in the direction of the mighty rivers, e'en though 

 the latter hath power to bestow fish large be- 

 yond the imagining of the streamlet. It is not 

 the fish one catches, nor yet the large fish which 

 so often escapes, that makes the little streams 

 so attractive, but what they themselves are. I 

 wonder if I have made myself clear. The little 

 rivers are companionable, slipping into our 

 fondest musings with an understanding denied 

 all human friendships. For our gay moments 

 there are chuckling rapids, scintillating in the 

 bright sunlight, and for our graver hours there 

 are miniature pools, calm, serene, mirroring the 

 fleecy clouds that float overhead, even as they re- 

 flect our inmost thought. There is a fidelity 

 about the little creeks; you can depend upon 

 them. They have a genius for intimacy un- 



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