120 BASS-FISHING IN SUNGAHNEETUK 



with the fulfillment, sometimes not, and faster 

 when the thin, barren current ripples over pebbly 

 and sandy shoals, shortening now and then our 

 course a half-mile by a cross-cut of a few rods. 



Climbing the two fences of a road and passing 

 its bridge, and then skirting a wide thicket of 

 willows, we come to a farm-bridge, beside which an 

 aged Quakeress is fishing. Perhaps it has been 

 "borne hi upon her" that she should go a-fishing 

 to-day: at any rate, she has been "greatly 

 favored," and shows us with quiet pride a goodly 

 string of fish tethered under the abutment, con- 

 spicuous among them the bristling olive backs and 

 golden-green sides of half a dozen fine bass. Look- 

 ing upon her placid face, one may well believe 

 angling a gentle art if it can draw to it such a 

 saintly devotee. The stream has grown as placid as 

 she, and now winds voiceless between its willowy 

 banks, giving no sign of its flow but by some glid- 

 ing leaf or twig and the arrowy ripples of dipping 

 branches and mid-stream snags. 



Here is a straight reach, hedged on one side 

 with willows tall and low, interwoven with wild 

 grapevines, on the other walled with a green bank 

 topped with a clump of second-growth pines and 

 hemlocks. Looking back through this vista, we 

 see the noble peak of Tawabedeewadso, bright with 

 last winter's snow, shining against the eastern sky. 



On the opposite bank I get a glimpse of a rival 



