And the Preacher Didn't Swear? 



the water several times, apparently with the avowed 

 purpose of demonstrating how wonderfully beautiful 

 he was. I am well aware of the fact that the fish you 

 never really measure are usually longer than the tape 

 shows them, and even as a preacher I am always in- 

 clined to excuse the " big ones " told by the fishing 

 fan, for I know the temptation. However, without 

 fear of injuring my ministerial standing in any par- 

 ticular, I am ready to swear that fish was not less than 

 twenty inches in length. The red on his side looked 

 as if it had been painted there. All in all, he was a 

 beauty. I had no landing net, and my old fisherman 

 pal, who was with me, cautioned me not to get excited 

 but use all my skill if I wanted that fish in the basket. 



I knew he was right, and several times in the strug- 

 gle that was taking place I was able to bring the fight- 

 ing beauty just below me, as I stood on the drift. 

 Then away he would go, and the reel would sing the 

 song that only reels sing. 



Finally I said to my companion: "The only way 

 to land that fellow is for me to lead him around this 

 drift and out on the gravel bed on the other side." 

 I started, intent on doing just the thing I had out- 

 lined as my only hope. It is not an easy matter to 

 " coon a log " which is devoid of bark, extending out 

 over a roaring, boiling mountain stream where the 

 water is at least twenty feet in depth, but when you add 

 to that difficulty a fish like the one I have named doing 



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