riving as we go on, strengthening its voice and
enlargening its bosom, and sparkling through each successive meadow with
richer plenitude of silver, than to trace it against its own grain and
good-will toward weakness, and littleness, and immature conceptions.

However, you will say that if John Pike had fished up stream, he would
have found this trout much sooner. And that is true; but still, as it
was, the trout had more time to grow into such a prize. And the way in
which John found him out was this. For some days he had been tormented
with a very painful tooth, which even poisoned all the joys of fishing.
Therefore he resolved to have it out, and sturdily entered the shop of
John Sweetland, the village blacksmith, and there paid his sixpence.
Sweetland extracted the teeth of the village, whenever they required
it, in the simplest and most effectual way. A piece of fine wire was
fastened round the tooth, and the other end round the anvil's nose, then
the sturdy blacksmith shut the lower half of his shop door, which was
about breast-high, with the patient outside and the anvil within; a
strong push of the foot upset the anvil, and the tooth flew out like
a well-thrown fly. When John Pike had suffered this very bravely, "Ah,
Master Pike," said the blacksmith, with a grin, "I reckon you won't
pull out thic there big vish,"--the smithy commanded a view of the
river,---"clever as you be, quite so peart as thiccy."

"What big fish?" asked the boy, with deepest interest, though his mouth
was bleeding fearfully.

"Why that girt mortial of a vish as hath his hover in Crocker's Hole.
Zum on 'em saith as a' must be a zammon."

Off went Pike with his handkerchief to his mouth, and after him ran Alec
Bolt, one of his fellow-pupils, who had come to the shop to enjoy the
extraction.

"Oh, my!" was all that Pike could utter, when by craftily posting
himself he had obtained a good view of this grand fish.

"I'll lay you a crown you don't catch him!" cried Bolt, an impatient
youth, who scorned angling.

"How long will you give me?" asked the wary Pike, who never made rash
wagers.

"Oh! till the holidays if you like; or, if that won't do, till
Michaelmas."

Now the midsummer holidays were six weeks off--boys used not to talk of
"vacations" then, still less of "recesses."

"I think I'll bet you," said Pike, in his slow way, bending forward
carefully, with his keen eyes on this monster; "but it would not be fair
to take till