These young women had waited on their father and myself at supper-time, one continually bringing hot griddle cakes, and the other giving me every opportunity to test the relative merits of the seven different kinds of preserved fruit which, in little glass plates, covered the otherwise unoccupied spaces on the tablecloth.  The latter, when she found that there was no further possible way of serving us, presumed to sit down at the corner of the table and begin her supper.  But in spite of this apparent humility, which was only a custom of the country, there was that in the general air of the pretty daughters which left no doubt in the mind of the intelligent observer that they stood at the wheel in that house.  There was a son of fourteen, who sat at table with us, but he did not appear to count as a member of the family.

“Yes,” I answered, “I understood that there was good fishing hereabout, and, at any rate, I should like to spend a few days among these hills and mountains.”

“Well,” said Peter, “there’s trout in some of our streams, though not as many as there used to be, and there’s hills a plenty, and mountains too, if you choose to walk fur enough.  They’re a good deal furder off than they look.  What did you bring with you to fish with?”

“Nothing at all,” I answered.  “I was told in the town that you were a great fisherman, and that you could let me have all the tackle I would need.”

“Upon my word,” said old Peter, resting his pipe-hand on his knee and looking steadfastly at me, “you’re the queerest fisherman I’ve see’d yet.  Nigh every year, some two or three of ’em stop here in the fishin’ season, and there was never a man who didn’t bring his jinted pole, and his reels, and his lines, and his hooks, and his dry-goods flies, and his whiskey-flask with a long strap to it.  Now, if you want all these things, I haven’t got ’em.”

“Whatever you use yourself will suit me,” I answered.

“All right, then,” said he.  “I’ll do the best I can for you in the mornin’.  But it’s plain enough to me that you’re not a game fisherman, or you wouldn’t come here without your tools.”

To this remark I made answer to the effect that, though I was very fond of fishing, my pleasure in it did not depend upon the possession of all the appliances of professional sport.

“Perhaps you think,” said the old man, “from the way I spoke, that I don’t believe them fellers with the jinted poles can ketch fish, but that ain’t so.  That old story about the little boy with the pin-hook who ketched all the fish, while the gentleman with the modern improvements, who stood alongside of him, kep’ throwin’ out his beautiful flies and never got nothin’, is a pure lie.  The fancy chaps, who must have ev’rythin’ jist so, gen’rally gits fish.  But for all that, I don’t like their way of fishin’, and I take no stock in it myself.  I’ve been fishin’, on and off, ever since I was a little boy, and I’ve caught nigh every