itself around his
tail in a way that annoyed him greatly. He almost thought he could get
away if they were not there to hinder him. And yet, as it finally turned
out, it was one of those flies that saved his life. He was coming slowly
back from that last unsuccessful rush for liberty, fighting for every
inch, and only yielding to a strength a thousand times greater than his
own, when the trailer caught on a sunken log and held fast. Instantly
the strain on his mouth relaxed. The angler was no longer pulling on
him, but on the log. He could jerk now, and he immediately began to
twitch his head this way and that, backward and forward, right and
left, tearing the hole in his lip a little larger at every yank,
until the hook came away and he was free.

It was a painful experience, and he carried the scar as long as he
lived, but the lesson he learned was worth all it cost. I won't say that
he never touched bait again, but he was much more cautious, and no other
artificial fly ever stung him as badly as that one.

The years went by, and the Trout increased in size and strength and
wisdom, as a trout should. One after another his rivals went away to the
happy hunting-grounds, most of them losing their lives because they
could not resist the temptation to taste a made-up fly, or to swallow a
luscious angle-worm festooned on a dainty little steel hook; and the
number of fish who dared dispute his right to do whatever he pleased
grew beautifully less. And at last there was only one trout left in all
the stream who was larger and stronger than he. That was the same big
fellow who had come so near swallowing him on the occasion of his first
visit to the nesting-grounds; and the way the fierce, solemn old brute
finally departed this life deserves a paragraph all to itself.

It happened one morning in early spring, just after the ice had gone
out. Our friend was still a trifle sleepy and lazy after the long, dull
winter, though he had an eye open, as always, for anything particularly
good to eat. I doubt if he would have jumped at any kind of a fly, for
it was not the right time of year for flies, and he did not believe in
eating them out of season; but almost anything else was welcome. He was
faring very well that morning, as it chanced, for the stream was running
high, and many a delicious grub and earthworm had been swept into it by
the melting snow. And presently, what should come drifting down with the
current but a poor litt