"Pretty good for such a little brook," he said aloud. "I wonder if there are many like that."
He made another cast, but without result.
"I've frightened them," he thought. "I came lumbering down like a duffer. Besides, they can see me, here."
He turned and followed the stream with his eye. It seemed a succession of falls and fascinating pools, and the pools grew even larger and more enticing. He could not resist trying just once more, and when another goodly trout was in his creel and then another, all else in life became hazy in the joy of following that stream from fall to fall and from pool to pool--of dropping those gay little flies just in the particular spot which would bring that flash and swish, that delightful tug, and the gayly speckled capture that came glancing to his feet. Why not do his fishing now, in these morning hours when the time was right? Later, the sport might be poor, or none at all. At this rate he could soon fill his creel and then make his way up the mountain. He halted a moment to line the basket with damp moss and water grasses to keep his catch fresh. Then he put aside every other purpose for the business of the moment, creeping around bushes, or leaping from stone to stone--sometimes slipping to his knees in the icy water, caring not for discomfort or bruises--heedless of everything except the zeal of pursuit and the zest of capture--the glory of the bright singing water, spilling from pool to pool--the filtering sunlight--the quiring birds--the resinous smell of the forest--all the things which lure the feet of young men over the paths trod by their fathers in the long-forgotten days.
The stream widened. The pools grew deeper and the trout larger as he descended. Soon he decided to keep only the larger fish. All others he tossed back as soon as taken. Then there came a break ahead and presently the brook pitched over a higher fall than any he had passed, into a larger stream--almost a river. A great regret came upon the young man as he viewed this fine water that rushed and swirled among a thousand bowlders, ideal stepping stones with ideal pools below. Oh, now, for a rod and reel, with a length of line to cast far ahead into those splendid pools!