GEORGE. 



MRS. JANE MARLIN. 



" But sweetest to my ear the sudden splash, 

 When the swift trout across the ripples dash." 



Away up in Massachusetts hills, on the 

 banks of Roaring brook, nestles a village 

 of little importance to the outside world; 

 a village of rural simplicity quite as prim- 

 itive as it was half a century ago, quite as 

 fascinatingly picturesque. Still Corner 

 boasts a store and school house, the one 

 at the top and the other at the foot of the 

 long, steep hill which forms the main 

 street of the village. On either side are 

 old, rambling farm houses with wide pi- 

 azzas hidden beneath honeysuckle vine 

 and white star-like clematis. Near the 

 store is the tumble-down, red mill, long 

 since deserted, and back of it the mill pond 

 and dam. Down another hill, running at 

 right angles with the main street, is the 

 grist mill, and just across the bridge, on a 

 terrace overlooking the noisy brook, is the 

 pretty cottage where George lived. A little 

 white cottage with green blinds and so 

 hidden among fruit trees as to be scarcely 

 discernible from the store and settlement 

 at the top of the hill. Near the house, 

 separated by an old-fashioned garden is 

 the barn, with its comfortable box stall for 

 "Jennie," the faithful, white mare; and in 

 the shed, close by, the buckboard, light 

 and springy, the most comfortable ve- 

 hicle imaginable for the rough, stony hills. 

 Over the buckboard, on a beam are rods 

 innumerable and lines, hooks, baskets, 

 reels and tin worm boxes are scattered 

 everywhere; for George loved to fish and 

 he knew every brook and pond wherein 

 trout sported — the country round. From a 

 mere lad it was George's delight to steal 

 away and fish, and for over 60 years he 

 haunted the stream from April till August. 



One bright April day I received the fol- 

 lowing letter: 



" Still Corner, April 19, 1895. 

 Dear Elizabeth: The brooks are in 

 splendid condition and if you and Paul will 

 come up you may be sure of a good mess 

 of trout for dinner, and a nice string to 

 take back to town. Let me know when 

 to expect you, and ' Jennie ' and I will be 



at the N A station to meet you, 



Affectionately Yours, 



Uncle George." 



Well we knew what that meant. For 

 the past 10 years we had received just such 

 letters of invitation from George and his 

 promise of a good catch of trout had 

 never been broken. In 2 days we were 

 grasping George's hand on the station 

 platform and looking into his kindly blue 



eyes. We were soon packed away on the 

 buckboard and after a drive of 3 miles 

 reached the cottage and were soon in the 

 arms of Aunt Mary, George's sister and 

 housekeeper. In the dining room the 

 table was already set, while, from the kit- 

 chen the odor of frying fish was most ap- 

 petizing. 



"Trout, I do believe, George! The 

 first of the season. How many to-day, 

 old man? I hope you left a few for me," 

 said Paul, as he threw himself down in the 

 large rocking chair. 



" Not many, my boy, just a taste for 

 Beth. They didn't bite as well as usual to- 

 day," and George laughed as Armindy 

 brought in the large platter heaped with 

 small deliciously browned trout. We were 

 hungry, the fish were fried to a turn and 

 at the end of the meal not so much as a 

 tail remained of the 3 dozen. 



" I'll feed Jennie," said George after 

 supper, " then to bed. ' Early to bed, 

 early to rise,' children, you know," and 

 the old man went out to the barn followed 

 by Paul. It was about eight o'clock when 

 they came in. 



" I've tramped about a good deal for an 

 old man like me," and George went into 

 the kit,chen for a candle, " so if you will 

 excuse me, Beth, I think I'll turn in. What 

 time will you be ready to start in the morn- 

 ing? Better get an early start. You ain't 

 going, be you, Beth?" 



" Why, of course I am, George. You 

 promised to teach me how to land a trout 

 and you have put me off long enough. I 

 am going this time and shall be ready at 

 7. Paul is the lazy one and it will be 9 

 before we get him out." 



"No, indeed, George. Breakfast at 6.30 

 and all aboard for the trout brook at 7, as 

 Madame suggests, though I'll wager she 

 will back out at the last minute." 



" Six o'clock, boys and girls," called 

 George outside the door next morning. 

 " Here's hot water and breakfast will be 

 on the table by the time you're down." 

 We were soon dressed and after breakfast 

 of slapjacks, maple syrup and coffee we 

 seated ourselves on the buckboard. Giv- 

 ing Jennie a slap with the reins we were 

 soon bowling along the road toward the 

 Centre-, for, by special permission, we were 

 to fish in .a much posted, narrow stream 

 that meandered through the meadow land 

 of Deacon Ebenezer Field. Driving across 

 the lot to a maple grove on the farther 

 side George tied Jennie to a tree, and with 

 Paul's help soon had the rods rigged for 

 the day's sport. Handing me a long, wil- 



