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," "