Down North and Up Along 
Being tough, it was better stewed than broiled 
and we still think with longing of the bear's 
meat stews we concocted under the fir-trees of 
Cape Breton with the aid of the sparkling 
brook water and the red-skinned potatoes M. 
bought each day from a wayside cottage. 
While we were preparing our Black Brook 
trout, along came a Highlander leading a cow, 
and he stopped, full of curiosity. We showed 
him our fish and he said they did very well, 
that Black Brook was the place for trout, but 
that he had caught one measuring twenty-two 
inches. Then he took the rod and handled it 
curiously, particularly the reel. " This," he 
said, tapping it, " I suppose will be a reel. I 
have lived a good many years, but I never saw 
one and never expected to;" and he unwound 
the line and wound it up again. All this 
time the cow was tossing her head and trying 
to pull away, but he clung to the rope and 
the rod, from time to time requesting the cow 
to " sh ! " At length he and the cow went 
on their way, no doubt with much food for 
meditation. 
It was as usual nearing the twilight hour 
when we drew near our destination. Breaking 
262 
