TROUT OF THE SPRINGS 117 



knew, for they were bright and fresh, all but 

 flopping. I puzzled over the matter all the way 

 home and dreamed about it during the night. 



The next morning I was up betimes and afoot. 

 To cut the story short, after nearly a day's 

 search, I found the place from which the trout 

 were taken, a spring-hole some twenty or thirty 

 rods, perhaps more, back from the stream I had 

 fished so much. The reason I had never sus- 

 pected its presence was because it discharged into 

 the river beneath the surface, and was surrounded 

 with a thick growth of cedar and spruce in the 

 midst of a quaking marsh. So black was the 

 soil that the water itself appeared black, one 

 could not see a fish until almost upon the sur- 

 face. That hidden spring was literally alive with 

 great lusty speckled trout. Each year the 

 farmer who owned the spring emptied from two 

 to four cans of fry into it, so he kept the numbers 

 up. Of course he planted the fry according to 



law: "tributary to river"; but, judging 



from a screen at the outlet, the fish could not get 

 down into the river if they so desired. No; I 

 did not "squeal." Why should I? 'But I had 

 some delightful experiences and several fine 

 messes of "bog trout." If I am ever back in 

 that section of the country I am going to look up 



