who was in the bow of the boat, to prepare his rod and fly.  We approached carefully along the willows on the opposite shore, until in a position from which he could throw in the direction I indicated.  In the then stage of the water, there was no appearance of a spring, or any indication marking it as a spot where the trout would be at all likely to congregate, and Spalding was half inclined to believe that I was practising upon his want of knowledge of the habits of the fish of this region.  I had said nothing about the spring, or the habit of the trout in gathering wherever a cold stream enters a river, or a spring comes gushing up in its bed.

“I don’t believe there’s a trout within half a mile of us,” he said, as he adjusted his rod and fly.

“Never mind,” I replied, “throw your fly across towards that boulder on the bank, and trail it home, and you’ll see.”

“Well,” said he, “here goes;” and he threw in the direction indicated.

The fly had scarcely touched the water when a trout, weighing a pound or over, struck it with a rush that carried him clear out of the water.  After a little play he was landed safely in the boat, and another, and another, followed at almost every throw.  Not once did the fly touch the water that it was not risen to by a fish.

“By Jove!” said Spalding, as he handed me the landing-net to take in his third or fourth trout, “this is sport.  You use the net, and I’ll trail them to you.  Let us make hay while the sun shines.  The other boat will soon be along, and Smith will be for dipping his spoon into my dish.  I want to astonish him when he comes.”

We had secured eight beautiful fish when the Doctor and Smith rounded the point above us.  We motioned them back, and their boat lay upon its oars.  Spalding kept on throwing his fly and trailing the trout to me to secure with the landing-net.”

“Hallo!” shouted Smith, “hold on there; fair play, my friends, give me a hand in,” and he fell to adjusting his rod and flies.

“Keep back, you lubber,” replied Spalding; “what do you know about trout-fishing?  You’ll frighten them all away by your awkwardness.”

“No you don’t!” shouted Smith, his rod now adjusted.  “Drop down, boatman, and we’ll see who is the lubber.  Wait, Spalding!  Don’t throw, if you are a true man, until we can take a fair start, and then the one that comes out second best pays the piper.”

The boat dropped down to the proper position, and the Doctor, who was seated in the stern, held it in place by pressing his paddle into the sand at the bottom, while the boatman handled the landing net.

“Now!” exclaimed Smith, as the flies dropped upon the water together above the cold spring.  There was no lack of trout, for one rose to the fly at every cast.

“I say,” said the Doctor, “how many have you in your boat?”

“Sixteen,” I replied, after counting them.

“We’ve got eight, and I bar any more fishing.  The law has reached its limit.  No wanton waste of the good things of God, you know.”