The Winter Angler 179 



" ' Take them off, Raphael/ I whispered, as it 

 certainly was uncanny and I fancied my boat- 

 man was a shade paler as he reached down, 

 caught the leader and unhooked a two-and-three- 

 quarter- and a three-pound trout, and again re- 

 leased the trout on the leader, still full of fire. 

 Away he went, bounding out into the open to 

 the song of my reel, and then : 



The listening men closed in on the story teller; 

 a menacing long-suffering group of anglers. The 

 story teller glanced at them a moment, then 

 added : 



" No, that was the end." 



The listeners fell back into their seats gazing 

 on that man as upon some strange thing, yet if 

 he had added two more to the string of truths, 

 lie would not have gone beyond the bounds, as 

 this thing really happened to my friend, George 

 A. Weber of the Laurentian and Tuna Clubs, 

 a well-known angler, in that peculiar thrice 

 blessed spot where the lakes of Canada rest in 

 the Laurentian Hills. 



The wind was blowing hard without, rushing, 

 roaring over the city in a bearish, playful mood ; 

 now banging old shutters or blinds, to wrench 

 them open again and with a wild roar go on; 

 now down into some big helpless chimney, then 

 up into the air, joining forces with a snow squall 

 which enveloped tall steeples in gigantic wraiths, 

 and swept on and on into the country, howling 



