Produced by David Widger from page images generously provided by the Internet Archive DAYS IN THE OPEN By Lathan A. Crandall Illustrated by Louis Rhead Fleming H. Revell Company 1914 [Illustration: 0001] [Illustration: 0002] [Illustration: 0003] [Illustration: 0004] [Illustration: 0005] [Illustration: 0008] [Illustration: 0011] [Illustration: 0013] [Illustration: 0014] [Illustration: 0015] [Illustration: 0017] [Illustration: 0018] [Illustration: 0019] [Illustration: 0020] ``_Do you know the blackened timber--do you know that racing stream ``With the raw, right-angled logjam at the end; ``And the bar of sun-wanned shingle where a man may bask and dream ``To the click of shod canoe-poles round the bend? ``It is there that we are going with our rods and reels and traces, ``To a silent smoky Indian that we know-- ``To a couch of new-prilled hemlock, with the starlight on our faces, ``For the Red Gods call us out and we must go!_ `````--Rudyard Kipling, `````_The Feet of the Young Men._ _The sun was setting and vespers done, the monks came trooping ont, one by one, And down they went through the garden trim in cassock and cowl to the river’s brim, Every brother his rod he took, every rod had a line and hook, Every hook had a bait so fine, and thus they sang in the even shine, “Oh! to-morrow will be Friday, so we fish the stream to-day! Oh! to-morrow will be Friday, so we fish the stream to-day!_” --Benedict, _To-morrow Will Be Friday_. THE BOY AND THE BROOK ```_I wind about, and in and out, ```With here a blossom sailing, ```And here and there a lusty trout, ```And here and there a grayling. ```I draw them all along and flow ```To join the brimming river ```For men may come, and men may go, ```But I go on for ever._ `````--Alfred Lord Tennyson, `````_The Brook_.= [Illustration: 00211] I. THE BOY AND THE BROOK [Illustration: 9021] A, may I go fishing?” That the boy should use the homely “Ma,” rather than “Mamma,” makes it clear that he is not of our generation, although his generous crop of freckles looks familiar, and his blue jumper, coming down to the knees, and that battered straw hat, are sometimes duplicated in our own day. It is fifty years across which we look, even if he does stand out so clearly. The question is one that he asks daily, if not oftener, from the time when the pussy-willows begin to swell in the spring-time, to the season for comforters and woollen mittens in the late fall.