“How dare you speak of such things to an inveterate old angler, after tying him up by one leg!” exclaimed my patient, shaking his fist at me.  “You fill my heart with envy and all manner of uncharitableness.  I call it the meanest thing I ever heard of on the part of a doctor.  Here I am, without even a new Wall Street report wherewith to possess my soul in patience.  Run away before I throw something at you, and good luck to you!”

“I haven’t dared to ask Miss Jelliffe whether she would like to cast a fly also,” I said.  “I suppose she will have to stay and nurse your wounded feelings.”

“She has stuck to me like a leech since yesterday morning,” complained the old gentleman, “excepting for the short time when she went to church.  I don’t seem to be able to get rid of her.  Wish you would take her away with you and get me some salmon that doesn’t come in cans.  She will doubtless have plenty of rainy days during which she will be compelled to stay indoors with me, whether I like it or not.”

“I have a half a mind to take you at your word, to punish you,” said Miss Jelliffe.

“This should be a great day for a rise,” I sought to tempt her.

“I suppose I can be back in time for lunch?” she asked.

“Certainly.  You can come back whenever you want to,” I assured her.

“Don’t you really care, Daddy?” she asked her father.

“What I care for is broiled salmon, fresh caught and such as has not been drowned in a net like a vulgar herring,” answered the latter.

We were away in a few minutes, walking briskly down to the cove, where we entered a dory which Frenchy propelled.  Our craft was soon beached at the mouth of the small river and we walked up the bank by the side of the brawling water.  When we reached the first pool we sat down on the rocks while I moistened a long leader and opened my fly-book.

“I think we will begin with a Jock Scott,” I proposed.

“No, let us try a Silver Doctor,” she urged me.  “It seems best adapted to present company.  It’s just a fancy I have, and I’m generally lucky.”

As we were speaking a silver crescent leaped from the still surface, flashed for a second in the sunlight and came down again to disappear in the ruffled water.

“Heem a saumon magnifique!” exclaimed Yves.

“You must try for him, Miss Jelliffe,” I said.  “You are to make good that statement that you are lucky.  There is a big rock under the water, just over there where you see that dark spot.  He will be likely to rest there.  It is a beautiful clean run fish.  Now take my rod and cast well up stream and draw your fly back so that it will pass over that spot.”

“Oh, no, you try,” she said, eagerly.  “Isn’t he a beauty!”

But I insisted and she took the rod, a fourteen-foot split bamboo.  She looked behind her, to see that the coast was clear.  There were no bushes for her to hook and no rise of ground to look out for.