Indeed, I fear that there must have been something confused
in our description of where we had been on that afternoon. Our
carefully selected language may have been open to misunderstanding.
At all events, the next day, which was the Sabbath, there was a row
of eager but unprincipled anglers sitting on a bridge OVER ANOTHER
STREAM, and fishing for trout with worms and large expectations, but
without visible results.
The boy and I agreed that if this did not teach a good moral lesson
it was not our fault.
I obtained the boy's consent to admit the partner of my life's joys
and two of our children to the secret of the brook, and thereafter,
when we visited it, we took the fly-rod with us. If by chance
another boat passed us in the estuary, we were never fishing, but
only gathering flowers, or going for a picnic, or taking
photographs. But when the uninitiated ones had passed by, we would
get out the rod again, and try a few more casts.
One day in particular I remember, when Graygown and little Teddy
were my companions. We really had no hopes of angling, for the hour
was mid-noon, and the day was warm and still. But suddenly the
trout, by one of those unaccountable freaks which make their
disposition so interesting and attractive, began to rise all about
us in a bend of the stream.
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