go in first and at least twice I had him in, when
the big fellow at the top gave a kick that landed both outside. It's a
mercy I did not lose both, but at last with a lucky hitch they were duly
netted, in the canoe, and I was weak and hysterical, but triumphant.
There was one of nearly a pound and a half, and the other a strong
half-pound, not guess weight, but by Eddie's scales, which I confess I
thought niggardly. Never had I taken such fish in the Adirondack or
Berkshire streams I had known, and what was more, these were two at a
time![1]

Eddie had landed a fine trout also, and we drew alongside, now, for
consultation. The wind had freshened, the waves were running higher,
and with our heavy canoes the six-mile paddle across would be a risky
undertaking. Why not pitch our first night's camp nearby, here on Jim
Charles point--a beautiful spot where once long ago a half-civilized
Indian had made his home? In this cove before dark we could do abundant
fishing.

For me there was no other plan. I was all enthusiasm, now. There were
trout here and I could catch them. That was enough. Civilization--the
world, flesh and the devil--mankind and all the duties of life were as
nothing. Here were the woods and the waters. There was the point for the
campfire and the tents. About us were the leaping trout. The spell of
the forest and the chase gripped me body and soul. Only these things
were worth while. Nothing else mattered--nothing else existed.

We landed and in a little while the tents were white on the shore, Del
and Charlie getting them up as if by conjury. Then once more we were out
in the canoes and the curved rod and the taut line and the singing reel
dominated every other force under the wide sky. It was not the truest
sport, maybe, for the fish were chiefly taken with trolling flies. But
to me, then, it did not matter. Suffice it that they were fine and
plentiful, and that I was two ahead of Eddie when at last we drew in for
supper.

That was joy enough, and then such trout--for there are no trout on
earth like those one catches himself--such a campfire, such a cozy tent
(Eddie's it was, from one of the catalogues), with the guides' tent
facing, and the fire between. For us there was no world beyond that
circle of light that on one side glinted among boughs of spruce and
cedar and maple and birch, and on the other, gleamed out on the black
water. Lying back on our beds and smoking, and looking at the fire and
th