The next day, being Saturday, a little note sent in the morning told Carington that Miss Lyndsay and her father would fish his waters in the afternoon. Her father took Rose up in his own canoe, and at the Island Camp they found their new friends. Mr. Ellett went off to take their pool, and Rose was soon seated in Carington’s canoe, facing the stern of the boat.

“No,” he said gaily, “I shall sit between you and Michelle, here in the bottom. I shall be very comfortable, and I shall be able to criticize your casts. No, I don’t mean to fish. It is your day—all yours. We shall beat you, Mr. Lyndsay. Mind, Michelle, we are bent on wholesale business.”

Then they were off, and in a half-hour were at the head of the pool, a full cast from the bank, and in a wilful rush of broken water. Meanwhile Mr. Lyndsay dropped down half a mile below them.

“I am afraid you must cast seated,” said Carington. “The boat rocks too much for it to be safe to stand.”

“That makes it harder.”

“Yes; but you won’t mind my coaching you?”

“Oh, no!”

238“Then, use your arms and wrist in the cast. Don’t try to put too much force in it. There, that is better—so.”

She went on casting, a little troubled by the critical watchfulness of the curly head below her, for Carington had thrown his cap at his feet and sat bare-headed. At last, in the second drop, a fish rose.

“Didn’t you see him?”

“No.”

“He rose. Wait a little. He lies on a line with that cedar. Now, again. They are in rising mood to-day. I rose six here this morning, and then left the pool, so as not to exhaust their curiosity.”

“That was to leave me the chance,” thought Rose.

“There, Miss Lyndsay; he was pretty eager that time.

“A rise to a Rose seems grammatically improbable,” he murmured, laughing outright at his own nonsense, and happy enough to be easily silly.

“What amuses you?” she said.

“Oh, nothing.”

“Then you are very readily amused.”

“I am to-day. Up anchor. He has it. Tip up! So! A grilse.”

“Oh! how he jumps,” she cried, for he was in and out of the water a dozen times.

“That is the fashion of his kind, young and foolish. Hold him hard, and reel him in. He is too small to trifle with. Well done; four minutes, or less.”

“That horrid gaff!” said Rose.

“Wait a moment. I thought you might not like it. I have my big net,” and so in a moment the 239pretty five-pounder was in the boat, and had his coup de grace.

The next half-hour Rose fished hard, but in vain, and began to be weary. Then, at last, there was a huge splash at the utmost limit of her casting distance.

“Two fish was after that fly,” said Michelle. “Guess they run against each other.”

“Let out a little line,” said Carington.

“But I can’t cast that far. Won’t you, please?”

“Certainly.” And, standing, he threw off two or three feet of line. The leader and fly dropped far away, straight from the rod. At last, after many casts, he put on a fly well known to anglers as a “fairy.” The fish rose, missed it, and then, following the retreating line, struck savagely.

“Up anchor!” cried Carington, as he sat down, giving the rod to Rose.

“Big one that, sir,” said Michelle; and, as he spoke, the salmon darted down-stream, the men in wild excitement, and the canoe swiftly urged in his track.

“The salmon seem fond of going to sea, Michelle. It is very rare, Miss Lyndsay.”

“Oh, he will have all my line! What can I do?”

“Tip up! up! He must run, and he will.” And away they flew.

“Quick, Michelle! I have twice seen a salmon run off a reel.” And now, in fact, there was very little line left, when, after nearly half a mile of rush downstream, the fish turned and ran toward the boat.

“Lost? No! Nothing is ever lost—reel! reel!—except by people who ought to lose. No, reel! reel!” 240And poor Rose, at the limit of exhaustion, obeyed till her arm ached, and the perilously long loop of line at last became tense, and the fish showed himself in one great leap not forty feet away.

“He’s beat!” cried Michelle. “Easy, miss, easy. Have to gaff him, sir.”

“All right. What’s the matter with him?”

“Hooked foul, sir. Ah!” And, amidst splash and laughter, and much water over Rose, the prey was hers.

“What does he weigh?”

Carington took the spring-scale. “How is it, Michelle?”

“Thirty-eight pounds, miss, and a beauty. A half-hour we was, I guess.”

“I congratulate you. Are you tired?”

“Tired? No, I am exhausted. I really don’t think I can fish any more. Won’t you?”

“Suppose we pole up a mile or so, to the upper pool. I’ll cast a little, and then we can drop down and meet Mr. Lyndsay.”

“Certainly. I, at least, am satisfied.”

“Up-stream, Michelle.” And the poles were out, and they went away slowly up the watery slope.

“Do you mind talking at the back of a man’s head?” said Carington. “I might have shifted the chair, and my own position—I will, if you like.”

“No; it has its advantages,” and she laughed, remembering another occasion.

“Such as—”

“I leave that to your imagination.”

“I have none.”

“Then to your reason.”

241“Gone! Retired from business.”

“I found it advantageous—once.”

“You mean when I was bowman. I thought I was to be forgiven.”

“I distinctly said you were not, and that I should reserve the matter for future consideration.”

“But the advantage was all on my side.”

“Thank you. I suppose because you could not see my face.”

“That is simply a diabolical explanation. I hope you may lose your next fish.”

“Don’t. I can bear any form of malice but that. I have gone salmon-mad, like the rest of you.”

“I retract,” he said. “Isn’t this hunting and fishing instinct curious? I suppose it got ingrained ages ago, in the days when our forebears were getting their daily diet by the use of the club and spear. If you could shoot, would you like that?”

He did not want her to say yes, and she did say, “No; I set my sporting limits at the salmon.”

“That is to say, pretty well up the scale. I confess that for me salmon-fishing is the noblest of the sports.”

“Why is it? For myself, I like it; I hardly know why. But I want to hear why you speak of it so warmly. You shoot, of course?”

“Yes. All manner of things, when I get the time. As to this fishing, I don’t think I spoke at random. It requires some skill,—not too much, or too intense attention. One is free to mix it with a book, or with deep thinkings, or with the laziest mind-idleness. Then, too, one’s curiosity is kept up by the unguessable riddles of the ways of salmon. We know no 242more about salmon than we know about—well, I leave you to fill the gap.”

“It is easy to guess,” she cried, “what the other term of all difficult comparisons is for men.”

“Woman, I humbly presume you to mean. Indeed, I at least might be excused if I so said. I have no sister, no cousins, indeed; no mother—now,” and he paused. “I am in truth alone in the world since after the war, when I wandered north, a pretty sorry sort of a half-educated orphan.”

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