' must be a true sportsman. He takes 
. fish in a chivalrous manner, never for 
/ the mere pleasure of killing. He is al- 
'ways humane, courteous, unselfish, 
magnanimous. You are guessing it— 
/he must be a gentleman in the true 
sense of the word. Our wild mountain 
' streams and the tiny brooks that trickle 
through our New England pastures 
compel bait fishing, and that kind of 
angling not unfrequently implies as 
_great adroitness as casting the fly. 
*"T°HE object is to outwit the trout; 
and he who floats a living insect 
impaled on a diminutive hook down a 
plunging stream on a piece of bark, 
and many yards below where he stands, 
twitches off the fluttering bait into the 
current to strike the fancy of a vigi- 
lant fish he has long cast for in vain— 
_that man has no more reason for self- 
reproach than he who, under other cir- 
eumstances that permit, deceives a 
dimpling charr with a counterfeited 
fly.” 
' “J believe, Doctor, you are teaching 
me more in one lesson than I could 
‘learn by myself in six months.” 
“You have guessed aright. Self-in- 
struction here is tedious and discourag- 
‘ing, and many tyros give it all up. It 
‘is very much like trying to make one’s 
self a billiard player without the help 
of book or coach.” 
“T am sure I have a most experienced 
coach.” 
“Come along then; I am going to 
jhave you catch a trout in that wide 
stretch of water just above us. A little 
spring, icy cold, feeds the brook there, 
‘and two or three large 
fish are usually fan- 
ning their fins where 
it boils up through the 
‘sand. It is nicely pro- 
tected, too, by a fringe 
‘of bushes, over which 
you can comfortably 
cast without being 
seen by the trout. 
Note well, if they 
‘should see you first 
you would never see 
‘them at this visit. 
‘Now, try to repeat 
that last cast, stand- 
ing behind the alders. 
There you go, splash! 
did you see him jump? 
But you’ve missed 
him. Back with your 
‘line. Take time to let 
‘it straighten out be- 
hind you. Don’t get 
excited. There’s no 
hurry. You will not 
‘think me uncharitable 
or peremptory if I 
place my hand over yours to guide you; 
and speak quickly and sharply. Now 
that’s a perfect cast. I could not have 
done better myself. He’s after it again. 
See him cuff the fly with his broad tail 
to cripple it as he supposes, before he 
bolts it. Strike quick! He has the 
stretcher-fly in his mouth. By Jove! 
You’ve got him. Now be careful. Reel 
your line in a little, and never take 
your eye off the fish. Hold on! Don’t 
whirl the rod backward over your 
shoulder. If you do, your fish is a 
goner. Step back, throw your tip for- 
ward—so fashion—and keep him un- 
der the bend of the rod. See how that 
holds the tiny hook tight in his jaw. 
The other way would have given him 
slack, and he would have taken ad- 
vantage of it to shake the hook out of 
his mouth. Stand back now a few steps 
more, and so lengthen the distance be- 
tween your arm and the trout. Get 
into the open meadow, away from the 
bushes, where you can manage him bet- 
ter, for it doesn’t matter now whether 
he sees you or not. Good! You see 
the point, don’t you? You are keep- 
ing a tight line on him, and the little 
rod springs back to meet his every ef- 
fort to escape. Look sharp, he is go- 
ing to make a rush now for that brush 
across the pool. 
S OU must turn him by presenting 
the butt of the rod—this way 
(the doctor illustrates)—doing just 
what I told you not to do a few mo- 
ments ago, but the action of the trout 
is different. In this case, he is going 
away from you and must be checked. 

The home of Fontinalis 
In the other case, the rod was over 
your shoulder with a long slack line 
out, so you were powerless. Your fish 
has turned and you have saved him, 
Miss Wettersrand.” 
“1 UT I haven’t got him yet,” cried 
Magnhild, reeling in her line and 
guiding her fish toward the center of 
the pool. “What’s he doing now?” 
“He’s gone into the deep water to 
sulk, as we call it, and think it over. 
Twitch him a little, that will stir him 
up.” 
“It does, Doctor. Oh! what a won- 
derful leap, see him in the air shaking 
the drops of water from his sparkling 
sides. And now he is running for the 
outlet of the pool. What shall I do?” 
“Give him the butt again; that will 
snub him and bring him back into the 
still water. Well done! But let me 
tell you one thing. When that fish 
jumped out of the water, he took you 
unawares. I hadn’t prepared you for 
that maneuver. The withy rod saved 
the day, for it sprang back and kept 
the fly firmly fixed in the trout’s mouth. 
His game was to shake it out.” 
“Will he jump again?” 
“T think not, for he is perceptibly tir- 
ing and shows an inclination to turn 
on his side. And yet I don’t know. 
You might reel in a little and see if he 
is willing to come toward the bank 
where I can reach him with the net.” 
“Yes, he seems to be coming along, 
get your net ready.” 
“Not too hasty in conclusions. You 
may be deceiving yourself, Miss Wet- 
terstrand. He seems to me to be cun- 
ningly recovering his 
wind, and the grand 
coup may be still in 
reserve. Be very cau- 
tious, take your hands 
off the reel handle so 
he can have all the 
line needed, if he 
makes another run, at 
the final start—there 
he goes!” 
The trout flung him- 
self into the air again 
and again as_ he 
forged toward the 
upper end of the pool 
with a strength that 
surprised the fair 
angler; but she stood 
her ground skillfully 
as the doctor coached 
her, and turned her 
fish back into the deep 
water where, broken 
in spirit, he gave up 
the fight and was eas- 
ily drawn toward the 
landing net. 
197 
