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Everywhere the birds were chirping and hustling about their morning duties. Here and there industrious spiders were at work removing the drops of silver dew from their shining cables of silk, and the bees were already gathering the last of the summer's sweets. The squirrels scolded and chattered to each other from the big trees. All the wild life of the woodland seemed at high tide. The butterflies were already at play in the cool, dewy nooks, and all nature was rosy in the freshness of a new day. Mr. Allen dressed quietly but quickly, unbuckled his fishing rod from his pack, glanced through his fly book, selected one here and there, then prepared to slip out of camp without waking any one. The little stream had been whispering strange tales of big fish to him all the night, and it was trout for breakfast that he was after. A saucy squirrel, observing him from a limb overhead, asked many foolish questions. Mr. Allen sat on an old moss-covered stump joining his rod and arranging his long, white leader, to which he had attached a royal coachman and a gray hackle. He paused to listen, for it seemed to him that every wild thing in that vast, rocky gorge had suddenly raised its voice to welcome the coming day. Willis awoke and saw Mr. Allen as he sat there in the sunlight. In a soft undertone he called, "I'm going, too, just to watch. May I?" Mr. Allen nodded, and in a few moments the two were quietly sneaking off through the bushes, headed up stream. "My, O my! isn't this a perfectly gorgeous morning. Just look off there toward Mount Rosa and Baldy. It's a perfect splendor of clouds and mist and sun; then look behind you, there, down through the big trees. It's just the morning to catch a fine big trout." "I never caught a trout in all my life," softly called Willis, as he trailed along behind. "I don't believe I've ever even seen one." "Many and many are the days I've fished in these old hills for a dozen; but a prouder fisherman never cast a fly than myself, when I could come home to camp, spread out my little catch of speckled beauties on the grass, and tell just how I caught each one." "Is it more fun than casting for big black bass on a clear, warm, summer night? Lots of times I've seen the big fellows leap out of the water, then in again with a splash, making big rings of ripples on the smooth water. O, it's great! Can your trout fishing beat that?" "Every man after his own heart," replied the "Chief," "
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