he milkweed poured a wild sweetness upon the
air. In a shallow run near the shore, where the sunlight, falling
through an overhanging cedar "sweeper", dappled the clear ripples, and
the current was about eight inches deep, and there was no pool near to
tempt the larger fish, the active and wary little parr took up his
home. The same run was chosen by three of his fellows also, and by a
couple of small trout of about the same size. But there was room enough,
and food enough, in that run for all of them, so the association was
harmonious.

Lying with his head up-stream, his long fins and broad tail slowly
waving to hold him in his position against the current, the little parr
waited and watched while his food was brought down to him by the
untiring flow. Sometimes it was a luckless leaf-grub, or a caddis-worm
torn from his moorings, that came tumbling and bumping down along the
smooth pebbles of the bottom, to be gathered into the young salmon's
eager maw. Sometimes it was a fly or moth or bee or beetle that came
bobbing with drenched, helpless wings along the tops of the ripples. And
once in awhile a pink-shelled baby crawfish in its wanderings would come
sidling across the run, and be promptly gobbled up in spite of the
futile threatenings of its tiny claws. The river was liberal in its
providing for its most favoured children, these aristocratic and
beautiful parr, so the youngster grew apace in his bright run.

Happy though his life was now, in every kind of weather, he was still
beset with perils. He had, of course, no longer anything to fear from
the journeying suckers, with their small, toothless mouths, but now and
then a big-mouthed, red-bellied, savage trout would pass up the run, and
in passing make a dash at one of the little occupants. In this way two
of the parr, and one of the little trout, disappeared,--the trout folk
having no prejudice whatever against cannibalism. But our pioneer,
ceaselessly on the watch and matchlessly nimble, always succeeded in
keeping well out of the way. Once he had a horrible scare, when a
seven-pound salmon, astray from the main channel, made his way
cautiously up the middle of the run and scraped over the bar. In this
case, however, the alarm was groundless. The stranger was not seeking
food, but only a way out of the embarrassing shallows.

Another peril that kept the young parr on the alert--an ever imminent
and particularly appalling peril--was the foraging of the kingfish