250 
[Feb. 16, 1907. 
After breakfast we all started to fish, and 
while Henry and Billy stopped to try some good 
looking water, I went a little further down 
where the stream is divided by a small island. 
On one side of the island the water is not more 
than thirty feet wide, but the fall is so sharp 
that for a distance of a quarter of a mile one 
would be as safe trying to wade in the Niagara 
rapids. 
It had always seemed to me that at the head 
of this swift water at least one good big trout 
must live, but although I had tried it as many 
as a score of times, I had never been able to 
prove my case. This seemed to be the fish s 
morning at home, and the first cast I made 
was responded to by a strike which sent a thrill 
through me. He was all I had hoped for in 
size, and the way he went down through that 
rushing current was good to feel. It did not 
take long to see that I was going to have a good 
deal of trouble before I should ever basket that 
beauty, for an unseen obstacle at once appeared. 
The shore was a gravel bed free from trees 
or bushes, except that one clump of willow bush, 
perhaps fifteen feet high, and a couple of yards 
in diameter, grew right at the edge of the water 
and extended out over it at a point where it 
was deep enough to be over my head. I was 
above this brush, while the fish was a hundred 
feet below it, and although I was holding him 
with all the strain I dared to put upon the rod, 
he was still taking line by fits and starts. The 
willows were too high to allow the line to pass 
over them, and there was no possible place 
where any wading could be done. I had got 
to lose that fish or else get in position to fol- 
him down stream, and there were no two ways 
about ii. 
I stamped down sufficient of the brush to make 
a footing over the water, and then gathered 
enough stiff boughs in my hand to give me. a 
good grip as high up as I could reach. By this 
means I attempted to swing myself around the 
bush with one hand while holding the rod with 
the other. The attempt was about half success¬ 
ful. That is, I was half way around the clump 
when the mat under me gave way and I went 
nearly my length into the stream in a seemingly 
hopeless tangle. However, the hand hold proved 
more secure, so by the aid of that and the cur¬ 
rent I was able to bring myself to shore on 
the lower side of the clump. 
By some unaccountable good luck the rod 
was not broken and the fish was still fast. As 
I righted up I caught a glimpse back of me, and 
there stool old Billy jumping up and down and 
holding his sides to keep from splitting open. 
He dodged the cobblestone which I threw at him 
and then went off down the stream where it 
could be waded and netted the trout for me 
twenty minutes later. When it was all over 
he said that he had been near enough so that 
he saw me hook the fish, and was standing 
right behind me when I was tussling with the 
willows. 
It don’t require much imagination to know 
that I scringed, when the next morning, as I 
was passing that same clump of willows, I saw 
a huge water-snake coiled and asleep in the same 
crotch that I had grabbed for support when I 
fell. I was not long in getting a stick and 
spoiling his nap, for I did not wish to encourage 
the habit of snakes sleeping where I might have 
to grab in haste again some day. 
Henry had only staid on the stream a little 
while, and then gone down to the village to get 
the mail and do an errand at the Browns. He 
found Mrs. Brown baking custard pies and she 
offered him one to take to camp. Setting the 
pie, hot as it came from the oven, on to a large 
sheet of wrapping paper, Henry gathered up the 
corners, much as a lady’s hat is sometimes 
carried, and started home with his prize. When 
about half way there he peeked into the paper 
to see how the pie was riding. The hot custard 
had all slopped out and left the crust floating 
on the little yellow lake which the paper was 
still holding. Of course from a pie standpoint 
the thing was a wreck, but Henry, true to his 
thrifty training, instead of throwing it away, 
poured the custard out of the paper, and brought 
the crust into camp. As Billy came from fish¬ 
ing he stood a minute inspecting the remains 
FOREST AND STREAM. 
and then inquired, “Henry, what are you going 
to do with that custard pie frame?” 
In the afternoon Billy and I went up the creek 
a half mile and then fished dj cr i on opposite 
sides of the stream. There w-.- an old estab¬ 
lished custom between us of calling each other’s 
attention to any spot where we had a good rise 
but were unable to hook the trout, so that the 
other could try it with the hope that different 
flies, cast from different directions, might prove 
tempting. This habit was so well understood 
that a whistle to call attention, and a pointing to 
the spot was sufficient. 
This day we began the same practice and kept 
it up until at a particularly wide and rapid part 
of the creek, Billy gave me the signal and 
pointed to a rock which just stuck out of the 
water about two-thirds of the way across from 
my side of the stream. The channel was next 
to me and it was a very difficult place to work 
out to. Of course it must be a large fish or he 
would never ask me to attempt getting it, so 
I started in to pick a route partly by wading, 
and partly by following the boulders. I had 
gone some distance when a misplaced step up¬ 
set me, and I was wet all over for the second 
time that day. 
Billy sat on the opposite shore, and I could 
see that he was yelling with delight, although 
the roar of the waters mercifully drowned the 
commotion he was making. I did not intend to 
give up and have him laugh at my return, so 
gathering myself together, I worked along 
until I could reach the point he had indicated, 
and make a cast. Instantly a trout not a frac¬ 
tion over six inches long, struck and fastened 
himself. Then I saw the whole trick; Billy 
had raised it, and seeing that it did not amount 
to anything, had ceased casting and marked the 
place for me. Now as I looked at him he was 
just rolling around on the bank and shouting. 
At the observatory we often spent hours at 
a time looking down on to the creek and watch¬ 
ing it work its way between the great boulders. 
Beyond it was a narrow flat and beyond that the 
great slope of the mountain, broken at intervals 
by jutting ledges. The mountain had long since 
been robbed of its heavy timber, and there had 
taken its place a dense growth of saplings, which 
under the full leaf of June gave it a velvety 
appearance except where the rocky cliffs were 
bare. One old tree alone had been spared from 
the devastation, and that a mighty maple. It 
was not the sort of maple that grows in the 
open, with short trunk and wide spreading 
branches, but the kind that lives in the forest, 
one straight shaft shooting into the heavens and 
crowned by a clump of heavy twisted limbs. 
Bereft of all its kin, it stood like a giant on the 
top of the precipice, a sturdy monument to its 
fallen brothers. Its bark was rough and 
gnarled, and as far up as a man could reach it 
was covered with scars made by the Indians in 
their crude method of gathering sap. _ In strug¬ 
gling with the elements it had so insinuated its 
roots into the crevices of the rocks, that its 
hold seemed well-nigh perpetual. From the first 
it was such an object of admiration to us, that 
we learned to call it King Maple, and later _we 
told the time of day, by where the old king 
threw his shadow. 
One forenoon while Billy was with us the 
valley was covered by a dense blanket of fog. 
When it cleared away the sun shone down with 
the fierce burning heat which often precedes a 
thunder shower. Between the bases of moun¬ 
tains there was a narrow opening through which 
one could get a glimpse of the sky to the south¬ 
west, and here we watched for signs of an ap¬ 
proaching storm. We did not have to wait 
long, for the sky-line at the bottom of the 
crevice darkened and the dark surface rose 
higher until it was nearly even with the hills. 
There was a little knoll near the camp from 
which an unobstructed view could be had, and 
we went and stood on that, for when a raging 
tornado becomes entangled in battle with these 
lordly mountains, it is an awe-inspiring spec¬ 
tacle. While we watched the top of High Point 
for a glimpse of the clouds and listened for the 
first faint trace of thunder, we noticed that the 
air was perfectly still and the leaves were as 
motionless as the stones. The robins were sing¬ 
ing their ominous rain song and the sparrows 
flitted nervously from branch to branch. 
Soon a bank of cloud pushed up over the 
top of the mountain, and its upper edge was a 
tumbling rolling mass of black and gray bil¬ 
lows. A dark shadow covered the crest of the 
hill and ran down its side as if in a race with 
the clouds. The hemlock timbered ravines took 
on the shade of midnight and the top of the 
mountain became lost in a lead-colored mist. 
The wind chased the shadow and the tops of 
the trees bent and bowed before it. The sun 
went out and the valley became ashen hued. 
Suddenly a blade of fire cleft the clouds and the 
echoes of the thunder were tossed from one 
mountain to another. There was a puff of 
scorching hot air and then a cool breeze rustled 
the leaves. We turned for the shelter of the 
camp. The tent fluttered and rocked in the 
gale and the poles creaked until the guy-ropes 
became shrunken by the rain and drew the 
canvas taut. With every fibre strained, the 
sound of the torrent on the roof was like the 
beating of a drum and the little beeches slapped 
the walls and scraped along the sides. One 
flap of the tent had become entangled and would 
not draw down, so through this opening we 
watched the progress of the tornado. The dogs 
crept close to our feet and looked in our faces. 
A robin was blown half stunned into the tent, 
and gathering itself up, hopped to a corner and 
stood there less afraid of men and dogs than 
of the elements. Finally the old King Maple, 
lost its footing, and holding in its death grip 
tons of rock, crashed down the precipice. 
It was soon over. The tornado lashed itself 
up the side of the mountain, and breaking over 
the top, went out of sight. The. thunder be¬ 
came an ever-receding roll, the wind died out, 
and the rain fell in a gentle patter. 
After a little the sun came out, and the rain 
ceased. A slight breeze stirred the drooping 
beeches; they shed a sparkling shower and raised 
their limbs. The robin hopped to the door of 
the tent, looked at the bow on Tice Teneyck, 
shook its wings and flew out. 
Winfield T. Sherwood, 
[to be continued.] 
New Publications. 
“The Log of the Sun; a Chronicle of Nature’s 
Year,” by C. William Beebe, curator of the New 
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should neglect to purchase for his library. From 
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to the eye and mind, and this is more pronounced 
because of the beautiful paintings and half-tone 
reproductions from photographs _ from life with 
which it is so profusely embellished. A large 
number of the illustrations are full page size, and 
the originals were made by Walter King Stone. 
As we were privileged to examine these paint¬ 
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are pleased to note that little has been lost in 
reproducing them. All are tinted and among 
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The text is plain enough for a child to under¬ 
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there are so many strange and wonderful things 
in nature that its historian needs not to look to 
fiction to assist him in making his story an en¬ 
tertaining one. Mainly the book shows how any¬ 
one given to tramps out of doors may find a 
fascinating pastime in looking into the strange 
things in nature—things that may be found in 
the orchard, meadow or pasture as well as in 
the forest. The narrative begins with New 
Year’s day and continues week by week to tell 
of the small “woodsfolk” and their habits, 
neglecting neither insect, fish, bird nor mammal, 
and so on throughout the year. To say that it 
is a beautiful and valuable work is but small 
praise, but it must be seen to be fully appre¬ 
ciated. Henry Holt & Co., New York. 
“The Critics vs. Shakspere; a brief .for the 
Defendant,” by Francis A. Smith, is an interest¬ 
ing volume published by the Knickerbocker 
Press, New York. 
