The first sight of the stream was disappointing not to say disheartening. Here was no dashing brook dancing its way along, but seemingly dead water in a great stretch of marsh land. The guide called it a “beaver-meadow,” although we saw no signs of the animal or of its architectural activities. But there were trout, as we soon proved. Pushing along through the marsh grass, frequent catches of good-sized fish were made, until at last the Preacher had a notable experience, not only for that day, but for any he ever spent in fishing. The Doctor was fishing ahead, and as he vacated a dry hummock, having taken two trout from that point of vantage, his friend stepped into the same spot. The first cast brought a trout, as did the second and the third and so on until he had taken sixty fine fish without stirring from his tracks. And they all came from the same point in the stream. The lure fell in vain three feet away from this particular spot. They were not fingerlings, but ten-inch and twelve-inch fellows. The Preacher’s creel and his pockets were full when the guide and the Doctor, returning along the creek, came upon him. The guide’s explanation was that the fortunate Preacher happened in his first cast to strike a “pot-hole,” a depression in the bed of the creek, where the water was cool and in which the trout gathered in great numbers. The explanation mattered little to the Preacher; it was the fact that counted. Even now he would gladly give two old sermons to be permitted to stand again on the banks of “Lost Creek” if he were sure of locating that “pot-hole.” [Illustration: 0073] [Illustration: 0074] ```_Alps on Alps in clusters swelling, ````Mighty and pure, and fit to make ```The ramparts of a Godhead’s `````dwelling._ --Tom Moore, _On the Road._ [Illustration: 0073] [Illustration: 0074] [Illustration: 0075] V. OVER THE SIMPLON PASS [Illustration: 9075] E agreed, my wife and I, that the couple whom we saw for the first time in the post-office at Domo d’Ossoli and a little later met in the gathering room at the hotel, would be well worth knowing. They were, evidently, not only husband and wife, but good chums, thoroughly congenial, and rejoicing in each other’s companionship. That they were intelligent no one could doubt, and they radiated kindliness and courtesy. They were dressed for roughing it, and we were prepared for the remark of the gentleman, made to a by-stander, that they had been spending a week in mountain climbing in the neighbourhood. When he added that they would cross into the Rhone Valley by diligence on the morrow, we were conscious of a distinctly pleasant sensation at the thought that, for one day at least, they were to be our fellow-travellers. The table d’hôte that evening gave us the desired opportunity to cultivate the acquaintance of the attractive strangers, for they were seated directly across the table from us.