Secret of the Woods | Page 8

were scarce in that lake, and in summer the big fish are always
lazy and hard to catch. I was trout hungry most of the time, for the fish
that I caught were small, and few and far between. Several times,
however, when casting from the shore at the inlet for small fish, I had
seen swirls in a great eddy near the farther shore, which told me plainly
of big fish beneath; and one day, when a huge trout rolled half his
length out of water behind my fly, small fry lost all their interest and I
promised myself the joy of feeling my rod bend and tingle beneath the
rush of that big trout if it took all summer.
Flies were no use. I offered him a bookful, every variety of shape and
color, at dawn and dusk, without tempting him. I tried grubs, which
bass like, and a frog's leg, which no pickerel can resist, and little frogs,
such as big trout hunt among the lily pads in the twilight,--all without
pleasing him. And then waterbeetles, and a red squirrel's tail-tip, which
makes the best hackle in the world, and kicking grasshoppers, and a
silver spoon with a wicked "gang" of hooks, which I detest and which, I
am thankful to remember, the trout detested also. They lay there in their
big cool eddy, lazily taking what food the stream brought down to them,
giving no heed to frauds of any kind.
Then I caught a red-fin in the stream above, hooked it securely, laid it
on a big chip, coiled my line upon it, and set it floating down stream,
the line uncoiling gently behind it as it went. When it reached the eddy

I raised my rod tip; the line straightened; the red-fin plunged overboard,
and a two-pound trout, thinking, no doubt, that the little fellow had
been hiding under the chip, rose for him and took him in. That was the
only one I caught. His struggle disturbed the pool, and the other trout
gave no heed to more red-fins.
Then, one morning at daybreak, as I sat on a big rock pondering new
baits and devices, a stir on an alder bush across the stream caught my
eye. Tookhees the wood mouse was there, running over the bush,
evidently for the black catkins which still clung to the tips. As I
watched him he fell, or jumped from his branch into the quiet water
below and, after circling about for a moment, headed bravely across the
current. I could just see his nose as he swam, a rippling wedge against
the black water with a widening letter V trailing out behind him. The
current swept him downward; he touched the edge of the big eddy;
there was a swirl, a mighty plunge beneath, and Tookhees was gone,
leaving no trace but a swift circle of ripples that were swallowed up in
the rings and dimples behind the rock.--I had found what bait the big
trout wanted.
Hurrying back to camp, I loaded a cartridge lightly with a pinch of dust
shot, spread some crumbs near the big log behind my tent, squeaked the
call a few times, and sat down to wait. "These mice are strangers to
me," I told Conscience, who was protesting a little, "and the woods are
full of them, and I want that trout."
In a moment there was a rustle in the mossy doorway and Tookhees
appeared. He darted across the open, seized a crumb in his mouth, sat
up on his hind legs, took the crumb in his paws, and began to eat. I had
raised the gun, thinking he would dodge back a few times before giving
me a shot; his boldness surprised me, but I did not recognize him. Still
my eye followed along the barrels and over the sight to where
Tookhees sat eating his crumb. My finger was pressing the trigger--"O
you big butcher," said Conscience, "think how little he is, and what a
big roar your gun will make! Aren't you ashamed?"
"But I want the trout," I protested.
"Catch him then, without killing this little harmless thing," said
Conscience sternly.
"But he is a stranger to me; I never--"
"He is eating your bread and salt," said Conscience. That settled it; but

even as I looked at him over the gun sight, Tookhees finished his
crumb, came to my foot, ran along my leg into my lap, and looked into
my face expectantly. The grizzled coat and the split ear showed the
welcome guest at my table for a week past. He was visiting the stranger
colony, as wood mice are fond of doing, and persuading them by his
example that they might trust me, as he did. More ashamed than if I