and keeps up the
movement mechanically, as if he were half asleep. But his favourite
place is under one of the floating islands of thick foam that gather in
the corners below the falls. The matted flakes give a grateful shelter
from the sun, I fancy, and almost all game-fish love to lie in the
shade; but the chief reason why the onananiche haunt the drifting white
mass is because it is full of flies and gnats, beaten down by the spray
of the cataract, and sprinkled all through the foam like plums in a
cake. To this natural confection the little salmon, lurking in his
corner, plays the part of Jack Horner all day long, and never wearies.

"See that belle brou down below there!" said Ferdinand, as we scrambled
over the huge rocks at the foot of the falls; "there ought to be
salmon there en masse." Yes, there were the sharp noses picking out the
unfortunate insects, and the broad tails waving lazily through the foam
as the fish turned in the water. At this season of the year, when summer
is nearly ended, and every ouananiche in the Grande Decharge has tasted
feathers and seen a hook, it is useless to attempt to delude them with
the large gaudy flies which the fishing-tackle-maker recommends. There
are only two successful methods of angling now. The first of these I
tried, and by casting delicately with a tiny brown trout-fly tied on
a gossamer strand of gut, captured a pair of fish weighing about three
pounds each. They fought against the spring of the four-ounce rod for
nearly half an hour before Ferdinand could slip the net around them. But
there was another and a broader tail still waving disdainfully on the
outer edge of the foam. "And now," said the gallant Ferdinand, "the turn
is to madame, that she should prove her fortune--attend but a moment,
madame, while I seek the sauterelle."

This was the second method: the grasshopper was attached to the hook,
and casting the line well out across the pool, Ferdinand put the rod
into Greygown's hands. She stood poised upon a pinnacle of rock, like
patience on a monument, waiting for a bite. It came. There was a slow,
gentle pull at the line, answered by a quick jerk of the rod, and a
noble fish flashed into the air. Four pounds and a half at least! He
leaped again and again, shaking the drops from his silvery sides. He
rushed up the rapids as if he had determined to return to the lake, and
down again as if he had changed his plans and determined to go to the
Saguenay. He sul