DIAMOND POND. 309 



nature, by showing us his rough side first. He was going 

 back to ferry over the baggage from the camp, and then 

 was going to use the boat himself for a few hours' fish- 

 ing. It was already noon, and the prospect was poor ; the 

 Frenchman was surly and pushed off. While he was 

 gone the camping party assured us that we would get no 

 trout, for various reasons, chiefly that they had got none 

 for two days, that the water was very clear, the sunshine 

 very bright, the breeze had gone and there was no ripple, 

 and finally, when they saw the light rods, they stopped 

 explaining and simply laughed at us. So did the French- 

 man when he came back with the luggage, and when a 

 couple of dollars had civilized and converted him from a 

 foe into a friend. 



" I'll paddle you about myself. I know all about the 

 lake, but you'll get no fish with those rods here." 



"Why not?" 



" Because you can't get near enough to the trout." 



" We'll see." 



So out we pushed on the glassy surface of the Diamond 

 in a broad noon sunshine. A poor prospect for trout, 

 and it must be confessed that every one we had seen 

 since our arrival at Colebrook had agreed with every one 

 else that we were not to take any. 



The old boat was wet and dirty. I cut plenty of pine 

 boughs and filled her up, threw myself down on them, and 

 luxuriated in the sun and air as we went around the edge 

 of the lake, impelled by the noiseless paddle of the skill- 

 ful Frenchman, who proved a first-rate fellow. I was idle, 

 and Dupont sat gravely looking at the glassy surface, 

 doubting much whether it was worth his while to exercise 

 his wrist. We saw no break on the surface any where. 

 The Frenchman and our Colebrook friend were regretting 



