28 FLY-FISHING IN MAINE LAKES. 



The breeze, which had been quite fresh at start- 

 ing, now died away to almost a calm, so that in 

 spite of the helmsman's skill the sail flapped idly 

 against the mast, and scarce a ripple stirred the 

 waters beneath our stern. 



" I thought so," said Cutting as he choked off a 

 prolonged whistle with which he had been en- 

 deavoring to "raise the wind." "It's got to' be a 

 white-ash breeze, Frank, and that means you and 

 me. It never blows in the narrows, and when it 

 does it's sure to be the wrong way. Put out your 

 trolling-line, Mr. Stevens, and you may get a trout 

 or two for supper." 



That was a pleasant suggestion, and, as I after- 

 wards learned, an uncommon one for a guide to 

 offer, for it adds somewhat to the weight of an 

 oar when a hundred feet of line attached to a troll- 

 ing-spoon is being dragged behind ; but we had an 

 unusual passenger (for at that time few ladies had 

 visited our camping-ground) and our boys were 

 polite accordingly. I put out my line, and the 

 silver spoon glistens brightly in the sun as it floats 

 away upon the water. I was just shaking off the 

 last few yards of line from the reel which was turn- 

 ing summersaults between my feet in the bottom of 

 the boat, when a quick, sharp jerk almost pulled it 

 from our hands, and in less time than I can describe 



