40 RECREATION 
ina gale, and the reel singing in semi-demi- 
semi-quavers. Every little while I heard 
a fighting exclamation, ‘Go it, old boy, 
go it. You're all right. Go it, this rod’s 
insured. That’s it, strain this old tip of 
mine. I need a new tip, anyway. Got a 
little line, that time—gee whiz, here, where 
in Sam Hill are you going?’ Holy Mike, did 
you see him ?” 
The fish had jumped, a beautiful pink- 
speckled, square-tailed, brook trout, and a 
foot and a-half long! 
“Did you see him jump?” I fairly 
shouted to Dick. 
‘Yes, I seen him,” said Dick. Then, 
after a careless pause, ‘“‘We’ll get bigger 
ones than that, though.” 
“No, sir,” I answered, vehemently. 
‘No, Dick, don’t say that. It’s been a very 
nice illusion so far, and by chance a miracle 
has been wrought, but let it go at that. I— 
gad, Sam’s got one, too! They’ll have a 
great mix-up there in a minute. Hello, I’m 
caught. Dick, back up.”’ 
The line was running out until the reel 
was fairly hot before Dick got the canoe 
turned. 
And it still ran out. 
‘By jove, it’s a fish!” : 
Dick laid his paddle across the gun’l’s 
and pressed the ashes down in his pipe with 
his hardened thumb. 
‘“That’s what it is,’ he answered, sen- 
tentiously. 
The staunch bait tip was springing, buck- 
ing, dipping, fairly diving, the reel rattling 
like a telegraph office. 
“T’ve only got 100 feet of line,”’ I moaned. 
“Well, Pll give you some slack with the 
paddle,” reassured Dick. 
him and he’ll stay round.” 
I don’t know how long it took to land that 
trout. He was the first of a triumphal 
series and it seemed a long time, half an 
hour or half a day, maybe. The others 
averaged five minutes, and ran just as big 
or bigger, but the first sage it 
seemed longer. 
And when, after heart-rending dailies, 
the net was behind him and I let him slip 
back into it, what a “beaut” of a trout he 
was; black-backed. dark red flanked, glis- 
tening wet, thick through as a ham, wide 
as the blade of a paddle and nearly as 
long. 
How the canoe shook as Dick held him 
out in front of him,his whole body swaying 
as the fierce fish doubled and struggled in a 
net that was knit for fingerlings and was all 
too small for trout. 
“‘He’ll go over five pounds, that fellow,” 
said Dick. 
“We'll call it five and a-half,” said I, 
magnanimously. ‘“‘Are you fellows ready to 
go ashore for lunch ?” 
“Not on your life,” roared Sam. He’d 
hooked another. 
We had a pretty kettle of fish to carry 
across that portage. I think I’d sooner have 
carried the-canoe. 
“How can I ever get down to domestic 
fishin’ again,’’ wailed George. 
‘“‘Boy, you came perilously near to ‘seeing 
red’ to-day,” grunted his gentle brother, 
‘“‘and it’s scenery for yours for a while, and 
take your murderous mind off of fishing.” 
For morality applies even to wilderness 
“But play with 
trout. 
DE BLOSSOMS AND DE BREEZE 
De fields will soon be ready fo’ de reapah; let em reap, 
I’d ruddah be a-loafin’ whah de coolin’ shaddahs creep, 
On de green banks ob de ribbah, jes’ a takin’ ob my ease, 
A jolly little bruddah to de blossoms an’ de breeze. 
Wa’n’t nebbah fond 0’ reapin’, ruddah hear de reapahs sing, - 
From across the woods an’ meddahs, whar de honeysuckle swing; 
It jes’ seems kind o’ natural fo’ me to take my ease, 
Fo’ I was bo’n a bruddah to de blossoms an’ de breeze. 
a 
—J. H. Secon 

