" But it was all in vain. I was ready to
despair.
At this psychological moment I heard behind me a voice of hope,--the
song of a grasshopper: not one of those fat-legged, green-winged
imbeciles that feebly tumble in the summer fields, but a game
grasshopper,--one of those thin-shanked, brown-winged fellows that
leap like kangaroos, and fly like birds, and sing KRI-KAREE-KAREE-
KRI in their flight.
It is not really a song, I know, but it sounds like one; and, if you
had heard that Kri-karee carolling as I chased him over the rocks,
you would have been sure that he was mocking me.
I believed that he was the predestined lure for that ouananiche; but
it was hard to persuade him to fulfill his destiny. I slapped at
him with my hat, but he was not there. I grasped at him on the
bushes, and brought away "nothing but leaves." At last he made his
way to the very edge of the water and poised himself on a stone,
with his legs well tucked in for a long leap and a bold flight to
the other side of the river. It was my final opportunity. I made a
desperate grab at it and caught the grasshopper.
My premonition proved to be correct. When that Kri-karee, invisibly
attached to my line, went floating down the stream, the ouananiche
was surprised. It was the fourteenth of September, and he had
supposed the grasshopper season was over.
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