REMINISCENT TALES 



There never was a keener fly-caster than 

 this same Billy. Busy man of affairs though 

 he is, the call of the wild he never could resist. 



A very early start was made next morning. 

 The guides were decent chaps; Gussie, who 

 was tall, lank and silent, took charge of 

 Billy; while Bob, shorter, thick-set, and 

 profane, guided the Angler. Both paddled 

 well. 



Before the main stream was reached a 

 number of deer were seen either feeding or 

 scurrying through the brush; whilst a large 

 bear, frightened forth from a thicket, ran 

 along the bank in his peculiar dog-trot. 

 Civilization was being left behind. 



At noon while they rested a few trout 

 were caught and cooked for lunch, and the 

 journey was resumed. 



The camp was made at sunset. As the 

 air had grown chilly a fire was started and 

 its warmth was most welcome. Everybody 

 was tired and turned in early. The whir of 

 waters, the hoot of owls, and the rustle of 

 leaves brought sleep and restful, soothing 

 dreams. 



After a hearty breakfast at sunrise the 

 canoes again headed up stream. This 

 proved to be a charming river with its silent 



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