r-frost lying thick and heavy
on the dead and fallen leaves, the last trout went in search of better
feeding grounds, and again the gravelly shallow seemed deserted. But it
was only seeming. There were no eggs in sight--the frogs, the rats, the
ducks, and the yearlings had taken care of that, and I am very much
afraid that our friend may have eaten a few himself, on the sly, when
his wife wasn't looking--but hidden away among the pebbles there were
thousands, and the old, old miracle was being re-enacted, and multitudes
of little live creatures were getting ready for the time when something
should tell them to tear their shells open and come out into the world.

One of the Trout's most remarkable adventures, and the one which
probably taught him more than any other, came during the hot weather of
the following summer. The stream had grown rather too warm for comfort,
and lately he had got into the habit of frequenting certain deep, quiet
pools where icy springs bubbled out of the banks and imparted a very
grateful coolness to the slow current. It was delightful to spend a long
July afternoon in the wash below one of these fountains, having a lazy,
pleasant time, and enjoying the touch of the cold water as it went
sliding along his body from nose to tail. One sunshiny day, as he lay in
his favorite spring-hole, thinking about nothing in particular, and just
working his fins enough to keep from drifting down stream, a fly lit on
the surface just over his head--a bright, gayly colored fly of a species
which was entirely new to him, but which looked as if it must be very
finely flavored. As it happened, there had been several days of very
warm, sultry weather, and even the fish had grown sullen and lazy, but
this afternoon the wind had whipped around to the north, straight off
Lake Superior, and all the animals in the Great Tahquamenon Swamp felt
as if they had been made over new. How the brook trout could have known
of it so quickly, down under the water, is a mystery; but our friend
seemed to wake up all of a sudden, and to realize that he hadn't been
eating as much as usual, and that he was hungry. He made a dash at the
fly and seized it, but he had no sooner got it between his lips than he
spat it out again. There was something wrong with it. Instead of being
soft and juicy and luscious, as all flies ought to be, it was stiff, and
dry, and hard, and it had a long, crooked stinger that was different
from anything belongin