his mate to suit himself; and nobody ever dared to
interfere. Whether he ever again chose that beautiful little fish from
the hatchery, whom he had been so fond of when he was a three-year-old,
is a question which I would rather not try to answer. Among all the
vicissitudes, dangers, and rivalries of life in a trout stream, a
permanent marriage seems to be almost an impossibility; and I fear that
the affections of a fish are not remarkable for depth or constancy.

The Trout had altered in many ways besides his relations to his
fellows. The curving lines of his body were not quite as graceful as
they had once been, and sometimes he wore a rather lean and dilapidated
look, especially in the six months from November to May. His tail was
not as handsomely forked as when he was young, but was nearly square
across the end, and was beginning to be a little frayed at the corners.
His lower jaw had grown out beyond the upper, and its extremity was
turned up in a wicked-looking hook which was almost a disfigurement, but
which he often found very useful in hustling a younger trout out of the
way. Even his complexion had grown darker, as we have already seen.
Altogether he was less prepossessing than of old, but of a much more
formidable appearance, and the very look of him was enough to scare a
minnow out of a year's growth.

But, notwithstanding all changes, the two great interests of his
every-day life continued to be just what they had always been--namely,
to get enough to eat, and to keep out of the way of his enemies; for
enemies he still had, and would have as long as he lived. The
fly-fishermen, with their feather-weight rods and their scientific
tackle, came every spring and summer; and only the wisdom born of
experience kept him from falling into their hands. Several times he met
with an otter, and had to run for his life. Once, a black bear, fishing
for suckers, came near catching a brook trout. And perhaps the very
closest of all his close calls came one day when some river-drivers
exploded a stick of dynamite in the water to break up a log-jam. The
trout was some distance up the stream at the time, but the concussion
stunned him so that he floated at the surface, wrong side up, for
several minutes before his senses gradually came back. That is a fish's
way of fainting.

His luck stayed by him, however, and none of these things ever did him
any serious harm. His reign proved a long one, and as the years went by
he c