sent down to them in the form of a fresh shiner; and Tim Reardon
knew these pools, and when to remove the troll and put on his sinker and
live bait.

He could have told you every inch of the country between Ellison's dam
and the falls four miles above; where you would find buckwheat fields;
where the corn patches were; where apple orchards bordered them; where
the groves of beech-trees were, with the red squirrel colonies in the
stumps near-by; and where the best place was to pause for noon luncheon,
in the shade of some pines, where there was a spring bubbling up cool on
the hottest days, in which you could set a bottle of coffee and have it
icy cold in a half-hour.

There were big hemlocks along the way, in the rotted parts of which the
yellow-hammers built their nests and laid their white eggs; hard trees
to climb, with their huge trunks. He knew the time to scale the tall
pines where the crows built, to find the scrawny young birds, with
wide-open mouths and skinny bodies, that looked like birds visited by
famine. He knew where the red columbines blossomed on the face of some
tall cliffs, where the stream flowed through a rocky gorge; and how to
crawl painfully down a zigzag course from the top to gather these, at
the risk of falling seventy feet to the rocks below.

There were a thousand and one delights of the old stream that were a joy
to his heart--though one would not have expected to find sentiment
lodged in the breast of Little Tim. As for the boy, he only knew that
it was all very dear to him, and that the whole valley of the stream was
a source of perpetual happiness.

He waded ashore now and went on, his pole over his shoulder, whistling,
filled with an enjoyment that he could not for the world have described;
but which was born amid the singing of the stream, the droning of bees,
the noises of birds and insects, in a lazy murmur that filled all the
quiet valley.

It was rare fun following the winding of that stream; among little
hills, by the edges of meadows and through groves of mingled cedars and
birches. Now and then he would rest and watch its noiseless flowing,
past some spot where the branches hung close over the water; where the
stream flowed so smoothly and quietly that the shadows asleep on its
surface were never disturbed.

The noon hour came, and Little Tim seated himself for his luncheon on a
knoll carpeted with thick, tufted grass. A kingfisher, disturbed by his
arrival, went rattlin