Dec. 22, 1906.] 
989 
smaller children at least life is forlorn and some¬ 
times full of discomfort. No class of children 
appeals to me as these children do and I gen¬ 
erally go prepared to do a little something for 
any that I may happen to meet. 
Fishing a mountain-brook for trout one day, I 
came unexpectedly on a little old log house set 
high on the bank of the stream. It was a lonely 
country among high and wooded mountains, the 
stream was new to me and the trout were very 
scarce, and when a boy of about eight years of 
age accompanied by a big black dog ran down 
from the house to intercept me I welcomed the 
interruption. The dog was very fierce and I was 
compelled to keep him off with my rod until the 
boy could pacify him. Seeing that no one came 
to look after the boy, I asked him if he were 
alone and was surprised and somewhat shocked 
to learn that his father, the only other occupant 
of the house, left for his work at dawn and re-- 
turned after night. I asked him where his mother 
was, and he told me, with the innocent ignorance 
of the small boy, that she went away in the winter 
with some man and had not yet come back. Just 
below the house was a deep round pool in which 
I caught a plump pound trout to- the intense pleasure 
of the boy, and I still take some satisfaction to my¬ 
self for having given him the trout when my 
creel held so few. Many times since I have 
thought about this little chap and his miserable 
life in that desolate home with his dog protec¬ 
tor and I should still be glad to know what be¬ 
came of him. But by this time, if he has lived, 
he is a man grown and may have a little boy of 
his own whom I hope his own experience has 
taught him to care for tenderly. 
At another time I was walking with a compan¬ 
ion along an old road that led from one trout 
pool to another on a large stream when a small 
boy, coming apparently from nowhere, ran up 
and called to us. When we stopped and inquired 
what he wanted he asked abruptly: “Was you at 
my mother’s funeral?” The question was so un¬ 
expected and the boy was such a pathetic little 
figure that for a minute or two neither of us 
could say a word. When we finally recovered 
sufficiently to talk with him we found that his 
mother had died several weeks before and that 
loneliness and his loss had made the child half 
wild. The fishing was excellent and it was the 
best time of the day, but we spent a good hour 
in trying to give the little fellow something to 
think about besides his mother’s funeral. This 
child’s face haunted me for weeks and I was 
greatly pleased when I finally learned that he had 
been taken into a home where he would be 
treated kindly and where there were other chil¬ 
dren of about his age. 
For. several years our noonday luncheon, when 
fishing a certain mountain stream, was eaten be¬ 
side a little bridge near which stood an old 
weather-beaten house. Each year a new family 
occupied the house and a strange brood of chil¬ 
dren came slipping out to watch us boil our 
coffee and broil our ham over the fire we built 
on the big flat rock down at the edge of the 
stream. What a pleasure it was to coax these 
children up to get each a big orange, a banana, 
or a handful of candy! Sometimes we found that 
some child had never seen an orange before and 
would begin to eat it greedily without removing 
the peel. It always seemed to me curious that 
these children wer.e not any of them willing to 
accept a slice of bread and butter, a piece of pie, 
or even a cake. They apparently did not want to 
be offered ordinary food no- matter how much 
superior to their own. Candy was the thing.most 
desired and our big square lunch basket always 
held such a generous supply that no child was 
stinted. 
Children’s books and illustrated papers and 
magazines are always received with the greatest 
delight by the children in these homes. A little 
girl to whom I take a new book or two each year 
always shows me how well she has cared for the 
ones of former years, and while, they show care 
they always show very devoted usage. A young 
lad with whom I occasionally left a book would 
leave his team standing when he saw my rig com¬ 
ing and run clear across the field to see if I had 
a book for him. I was as likely to forget my 
rod or gun as a book for him when I was going 
past their little farm. I am sure that these books 
FOREST AND STREAM. 
are ten times more precious to these children 
than they would be to the boys and girls living 
in homes into which come new books and maga¬ 
zines every day. 
Then too I do not-hesitate to'give a boy a few 
good hooks or some choice flies and a leader if 
I discover that he is learning to fish, or a dozen 
cartridges when I see that he has an old single- 
barreled breechloader standing in the corner. He 
may catch a few trout or kill a few birds that 
might have been left for the city sportsman, but 
surely no man who is not selfish to the core will 
worry much about this. And then the boy may 
occasionally return the favor. A half-grown lad 
that I had partly rigged out for fishing one spring 
hunted me up the next time ,1 came into the 
neighborhood to tell me of some big trout that 
he had seen rising at the head of a long pool be¬ 
hind His father’s mill. I questioned him closely, 
believing that they were bass, but he was so sure 
that 1 finally went with him and caught more big 
trout than all the rest of the season yielded 
They were broad lusty fellows, lying in a gentle 
riffle, and there was a beautiful beach on which 
to land them and the sport was unalloyed. The 
boy danced back and forth along the beach, helped 
me land each trout, and was prouder than a 
peacock over my catch. I was in good spirits my¬ 
self and when we parted the boy was the richer 
by a pocket knife that I knew he would use 
every hour that he was awake. 
But I started out to demonstrate that the hun¬ 
ter or angler by being interested in the children 
he meets on his trips may in a measure appease 
a conscience made uneasy by the thought of the 
selfish enjoyment the trips furnish, and I find 
that I am in danger of showing that for some 
of this interest at least returns are expected in 
the way of favors and privileges. But I am sure 
that if .the sportsman looks carefully he will see 
many opportunities to brighten the lives of boys 
and girls in places where the only return will 
be the satisfaction of knowing that his trips have 
yielded more than sport and game. It is only 
fair to the country places that he should make 
some return for the many days of pleasure they 
have given him and I know of no surer and bet¬ 
ter way to do this than to remember the children 
who will accept without offense the things that 
are cheap and trifling to him, but that are some¬ 
times precious to them and that make bright 
spots in lives too often squalid and dreary. In 
the country are many prosperous homes where 
the children are well cared for and happy all 
day long, but any mountain district will reveal 
to him that cares to look for them, lonely cabins 
where the children are deprived of many of the 
comforts and most of the pleasures of life. It is 
in these places that the angler and hunter should 
be prepared tO' square accounts and ease a rest¬ 
less conscience. Chas. Lose. 
The Angler’s Chiefest Joy. 
With many of the readers of the Forest and 
Stream I must say amen to all of Justinia John¬ 
son’s remarks, so entertainingly put forth (and 
written by one who knows), and yet must I take 
issue with her as to and upon her conclusion. 
“The Angler’s Chiefest Joy” is not telling about his 
catch, not at all, it’s about the fish—the big fish — 
that got away. The contents of the creel speak 
for themselves. They numbered and weighed and 
measured so much and that was all there was to 
it. But that big one that came at the dropper 
like a hawk upon its quarry, leaping into the air 
and taking the fly on its downward curve! Oh! 
My! Oh! My! And he took fly and three feet 
of the leader to kingdom come. Something told 
me there was a big one in that eddy below the 
boulder and sure enough he was there. Well, 
it was nip and tuck, the greatest stand-up fight 
I ever had. A dozen times did I give him the 
butt and saved him, only by a hair, from geiting 
into snag, or root, or under a sunken log. As we. 
fought our way along the stream there wasn't 
a point of refuge hut that he did not seek, and 
every time I turned him, at last into the stream, 
the cold sweat would run down my back. Every 
tug seemed to be the last for rod or line or 
leader. And then we got to the part of the 
stream where the pool, though not large, was 
very deep, a hole in the stream, and the banks 
were high and steep, and here, thought I, must we 
make our last fight. Fortunately the water be¬ 
yond was clear. And I stood on'the edge of that 
pool and fought him, and he fought back, gaining 
on line all the time and getting just a little 
further away every second from me. He had an 
open way and his rushes and sulks simply meant 
more line, more line, until the spool got pretty 
thin On the reel. To try to hold that fish steadily 
by giving him the butt, no matter whether he was 
sulking or rushing, meant only one of a dozen 
things ending in the fish’s freedom. I could not 
let out any more line with safety, and there was 
the pool, and so when the next rush came, in L 
went, rod high above my head, kicking with my 
legs and swimming with one hand, the haul of 
the fish helping matters just so much, and in a 
few strokes I was again in water waist deep, and 
following my fish as fast as possible, trying to 
gain line. It was a battle to the death and the 
result full of uncertainties. I was certainly tired 
and I know the tug upon my wrist was not as 
strong as when we started in. I was gaining 
line; the spool was filling up. I gained a little 
after each rush and instead of successfully sulk-, 
ing, the strain proving too much, he came- along. 
It was only a few yards now, at a rush, and these 
were not only regained, but more too as well. 
I, for the first time, began to look down at my 
landing net, dangling from a button of my blouse, 
to be sure it was in easy reach. I would need 
it soon now. In fact, I could picture his glisten¬ 
ing, spotted sides showing through the meshes 
of the net in graceful curves, as he, with jaw- 
impaled fly, slowly moved his gills. He had given 
me surely a noble fight and had played every 
card that was in the pack that could have won 
his freedom. I could see that my leader was 
somewhat frayed by contact once or twice with 
projecting rocks, but I thought nothing of that. 
It had held so far. Nearer and nearer he came. 
What a beauty! Carefully, carefully did I reel 
him in, line taut, rod well up, and at last the 
moment came to hold him steady and slip the 
net under him. I might have slowly worked 
him up on the shingly' beach, but—but—well. 
The fight was by no means all out of him. The 
sight of that approaching weapon of destruction, 
more terrifying to him (han all the rest, instilled 
him with such a frenzy of fear, that gathering all 
his energies together, with one mad rush he bent 
the rod double, snapped the frayed leader and, 
the rod straightening up, the line waved out 
upon the gentle breeze as if saluting and saying 
Godspeed to the biggest fish that ever was lost. 
Charles Cristadoro. 
Fly- and Bait-Casling Clubs. 
Steps are being taken in several cities to or¬ 
ganize clubs composed of anglers who wish to 
obtain all the benefits to be derived from fly- and 
bait-casting contests as well as to take part in 
these affairs and thus ascertain by comparison 
how skillful they have become through practice. 
In Newark, N. J., in Boston, Mass., and in 
Omaha, Neb., according to advices received by 
Forest and Stream, anglers are taking prelimi¬ 
nary .steps looking to the formation of clubs. 
Among those interested in one of these proposed 
clubs are several ladies who are skillful wielders 
of the fly-rod in fishing, but who wish to acquire 
the additional skill made possible in contests and 
club practice. 
ANGLING BOOKS. 
American Fishes, Goode. 3.00 
Men I Have Fished With, Mather. 2.co 
My Angling Friends, Mather. 200 
Book of the Black Bass, Henshall. 3.00 
Modern Fishculture in Fresh and Salt 
Water, Mather . 2.00 
With Fly Rod and Camera. Samuels. 5.00, 
Favorite Flies and Their Histories, Mar- 
bury . 5.00 
Fish and Fishing on the East Coast of 
Florida. 4 00 
These books are more fully described in the 
Forest and Stream illustrated book catalogue, 
which will be sent free to any applicant. 
