nding trick is one that you need to get just so. Study it,
and develop it. Don't be disappointed if you lose quite a few
trout. You will lose them often until you get the hang of the
thing."

Some distance above the pool Dick stepped into the water. He
walked along slowly, not stirring up much dirt from the bottom.
All the time he kept his line behind him, frequently lifting
it and whipping it into the water again. The gayly colored flies
and the glistening spoon just above the hook flashed in the sunlight
every time he made a whipping cast.

Not twenty feet had Dick gone when he felt a sudden, violent tug.
With the true patience of the trout fisherman, Dick didn't become
at all excited. His hand on the reel, he let the line fly out
as the finny captive darted up stream.

Presently Dick played the fish in gently, then suddenly gave it
plenty of slack line. These tactics were repeated, while Dave
and Greg almost danced in their eagerness.

Suddenly Dick flipped his pole sharply. There was a swish of
line in the air. Something speckled and glistening dropped on
the ground at least ten feet from the brook, where it lay floundering
and gasping.

"Hoo-ray!" yelled Greg, with all his pent-up enthusiasm.

"Do that again, Holmesy, and I'll chase you back into camp," warned
Dick, with his patient smile. Then he stepped ashore, took the
trout from the line and impaled it on a stick, which he gave Greg
to carry.

Within two minutes there was another strike. The same patient
tactics, and Dick had another trout---this time a two-pounder
as against about three quarters of a pound for the weight of the
first trout.

The third trout got away, despite the most careful handling, but
the fourth and fifth biters were soon landed.

"I can't stand this any longer," quivered Dave. "I've got to
start in. Where do you want me to go, Dick?"

"Better go about a quarter of a mile upstream," Prescott suggested,
"and then work down this way. Greg can go along with you and
carry the stick for your string. I'll look out for my own string."

For nearly half an hour Prescott saw nothing of his friends.
Then Dave and Greg came in sight. Dick held up a string now numbering
eleven trout, some of them unusually large.

For answer Greg held up a crotched stick with not a single trout
dangling therefrom.

"There's more knack to this game than I can catch," muttered Darry
disconsolately, "but I'd give a good deal to get the