THE EMPTY CREEL 191 



stopping for lunch and to count the fish. 

 Imagine, if you can, my surprise, chagrin, and 

 shame, when I found that we already had the 

 limit, and that my large basket would not con- 

 tain them all. I am glad to say that I was man 

 enough to quit right there ; though I am morally 

 certain that the guide still holds a grudge. 



Such "high" days in August or any time, as 

 for that are rare; but in my experience they 

 are more apt to occur in August than at any 

 other time of the year. Why it is so I do not 

 attempt to explain ; I only accept the fact. That 

 the fish, on the day in question, were feeding, 

 their stomachs amply proved, being literally filled 

 with small black flies. The fly I employed was 

 a tiny black creation of my own, made from crow 

 feathers and peacock herl. By the way, I have 

 found that fly uniformly successful late in the 

 season. 



When I climbed on board the train after that 

 wonderful day, lugging my heavy basket, I be- 

 came the cynosure of all eyes : men crowded about 

 me and demanded particulars, just "where" and 

 "how" and "what." While I must confess that 

 my vanity was tickled, yet down underneath it 

 all was a feeling that I had, to borrow a common 

 expression, "overdone it." Most emphatically 



