BASS-FISHING IN SUNGAHNEETUK 115 



above the rush of waters. It is silent now, its 

 occupation gone. A mossy roof, broken and sagged 

 with the snows of many winters, scantily sheltering 

 reeling posts, unmoving wheels rotting and rusting 

 among weeds and sprouts of willows, and a drift of 

 rotten sawdust, a flume so dry that the sun shines 

 through it and birds build their nests in it, a 

 grassy embankment, and a few ice-battered tim- 

 bers of the dam feebly reaching out against the 

 flood, are all that are left of the old mill and its 

 once busy life. A half-dozen mouldering logs that 

 came too late for sawing represent its unperformed 

 work, so near did it come to living out its days. 

 Just below, a little island splits the stream un- 

 equally, leaving on that side a shallow rapid 

 scarcely covering the pebbly bottom, on this a 

 deep current that seethes along its swift and 

 narrow way. Into the head of this I cast my bait, 

 and it goes whirling along it, now tossed to the 

 surface, now tumbled along the bottom. For an 

 instant the rod bends and jerks as the slack of the 

 line is taken up by the force of the current, then 

 curves into a drawn bow from tip to reel with a 

 strong, sudden pull that makes the line twang like 

 a bow-string. This is a hungry fellow, who makes 

 no cat's play with his prey, but gorges it at the first 

 snap. How lustily he pulls, with the swirling tor- 

 rent to help him ! If I should lose him, he would 

 go for a four-pounder at least. Keeping a steady 



