158 FLY-FISHING IN MAINE LAKES. 



"Well, Mr. Stevens, we're here." 



I turned about slightly in my seat : Mrs. S , 



who had hardly dared to wink, was now shaking 

 the "dew-drops from her mane," and Joe actively 

 engaged in mopping his brow with his shirt-sleeve. 



" Yes, we are here, Joe ; and my impression is, 

 we haven't been a very long time getting here. 

 Don't you think it was a little hubbly in some 

 places?" 



" Well, a trifle so ; but your wife has got some- 

 thing to talk about when she gets home." 



" Yes, Joe ; but you will have to come to Boston 

 and tell the story : I fear our friends would hardly 

 believe us when we tell of it." 



" Never mind : we know all about it, and they 

 can't take away the grandness of that trip by doubt- 

 ing us." 



"That's so." 



"And now, Joe, for a salmon." 



Drawing in to the shore, to give Tomah a little 

 rest, I let my line float out upon the stream to 

 straighten the leader and be prepared for action. 

 I pass my rod to the madam, while I fill my pipe, 

 and take a survey of the stream. The outlook is a 

 good one : the water is at a proper height, but ne 

 canoe is in sight, a gentle breeze is blowing, and 

 the sky is slightly overcast. 



