dling about, trailing this gaudy string 

 for all the long hours of this raw, 

 repellent day and evolve from it a 

 "happy time." 



I let out line twenty, forty, eighty 

 feet, and reeled it up again. I caught 

 water grass, snags and even stones. 

 I broke the Pierce peerless line twice 

 and lost the Daisy fly. Two hours 

 went by in this sportive way. A 

 fine rain which "made 'em bite," 

 permeated the atmosphere and our 

 clothing, and increased the sullen 

 dreariness. I was chilled through 

 and through and smiled sneeringly 

 at the possibility of there being a 

 Wagner ian method of angling. I 

 longed for the glowing warmth of 

 the camp-fire, but refused to go in 

 with a blank record. Fish had been 

 known to get on hooks, why not on 

 mine? It could get on, I mean bite, 

 even if I could not keep it. White 

 Lake was the home of the Musca- 

 longe, Sally had caught one, yea, 

 in that very place, that weighed ' 'over 

 twenty pounds." It had taken a 

 good hour for her to tell about it 

 last night. 



Five hours of this happy time had 



