I pulled out my spring scale and hooked up the fish.  We all watched eagerly as the pointer went down.

“Twenty-two; no, it’s twenty-three and just a little bit over.  I know it is the best fish taken from Sweetapple River this year.  They haven’t been running any larger,” I said.

Then we all sat down again and admired the fish.  Frenchy and I lighted our pipes, and I took the little Silver Doctor from the leader.  It was just the least bit frayed but still very pretty and bright, with its golden floss and silver tinsel, its gold pheasant tips, blue hackles and multicolored wings.

“I will be glad if you will keep this fly,” I told Miss Jelliffe.  “You must hold it as a souvenir of your first salmon.”

“Thank you!  I will keep it always,” she answered, brightly.  “It will be a reminder of much kindness on your part, and of this beautiful day.  Just look there, above the pool, where the little spruces and firs are reflected in the water that sings at their feet on its way down.  How still it is and peaceful.  Oh!  It has been a glorious day!”

I must acknowledge that she was very charming in the expression of her enjoyment.  There is nothing blase about this handsome young girl.  I followed the hand she was pointing.  The river above was like some shining road with edges jewelled in green and silvery gems.  High up a great osprey was sailing in the blue, while around us the impudent Canada jays were clamoring.  From this spot one could see no houses, owing to a bend in the river, and we were alone in a vastness of wilderness beauty, with none but Frenchy near us, who looked like a benign good soul whose gentle eyes shared in our appreciation.

“I think it is your turn to try the pool,” Miss Jelliffe finally said.

“Not this morning,” I answered.  “You have no idea how the time has gone by, and how much I have enjoyed the sport.  We will leave the pool now and go back.  You know you were anxious to return in time for your father’s lunch.  From now henceforth we will know this as the Lady’s Pool, and I hope to see you whip it again on many mornings, before you sail away.”

“Please don’t speak of sailing away just now,” she said.

I took up the rod and the gaff, while Frenchy took charge of the salmon and the landing-net, and we walked down stream, past the first little rapids, to the place where we had left the dory.

“Won’t Daddy be delighted!” exclaimed Miss Jelliffe.

“He will have good reason,” I answered.

By this time we could see the cove and its rocky edges, upon which the rickety fish-houses and flakes were insecurely perched on slender stilts.  A couple of blunt-bowed little schooners were at anchor, and some men in boats were catching squid for bait.

“This is picturesque enough,” said Miss Jelliffe, “but I miss the beauty of all that we have just left.”