SPECKLED TROUT 107 



eloser. But the day dawned bright, and a phingo 

 in the Neversink set me all right again. The creek, 

 to our surprise and gratification, was only a little 

 higher than before the rain, and some of the finest 

 trout we had yet seen we caught that morning near 

 camp. 



We tarried yet another day and night at the old 

 stable, but taking our meals outside squatted on the 

 ground, which had now become quite dry. Part of 

 the day I spent strolling about the woods, looking 

 up old acquaintances among the birds, and, as al- 

 ways, half expectant of making some new ones. 

 Curiously enough, the most abundant species were 

 among those I had found rare in most other locali- 

 ties, namely, the small water- wagtail, the mourning 

 ground warbler, and the yellow-bellied woodpecker. 

 The latter seems to be the prevailing woodpecker 

 through the woods of this region. 



That night the midges, those motes that sting, 

 held high carnival. We learned afterward, in the 

 settlement below and from the barkpeelers, that it 

 was the worst night ever experienced in that valley. 

 AVe had done no fishing during the day, but had an- 

 ticipated some fine sport about sundown. Accord- 

 ingly Aaron and I started off between six and seven 

 o'clock, one going up stream and the other down. 

 The scene was charming. The sun shot up great 

 spokes of light from behind the woods, and beauty, 

 like a presence, pervaded the atmosphere. But tor- 

 ment, multiplied as the sands of the seashore, lurked 

 in every tangle and thicket. In a thoughtless mo- 



