As the net approached him he dove again, hauling with fierce energy. The man was leaning over the edge of the rock, his rod in one hand, his net in the other. He came near losing his balance in the sudden attack. He scrambled into position. Again the trout gave up and followed the strain of the leader. Strong let himself down upon the river-bottom beside the rock, and stood to his belt in water. The fish retreated again and came back helpless and was taken. He filled the net. A great tail-fin waved above its rim. The Emperor hefted his catch and blew like a buck deer, after his custom in moments of great stress. Then came a declaration of unusual length. "Ye could r-reel me in with a c-c-cotton th-thread an' p-pick me up in yer f-fingers." It was growing dusk. Strong clambered to the top of the rock. "Pop" Migley brought the canoe alongside. The Emperor gave a loud whistle of surprise. "Dunmore's t-trout!" he said, soberly. He had found a "black gnat" embedded in the fish's mouth, its snell broken near the loop. He put the struggling fish back in the net and tied his handkerchief across the top of it. The Migleys both agreed that they were ready for supper. The Emperor got aboard and requested the elder Migley to keep the fish under water, while he took his paddle and pushed for camp. They put their trout in a spring at the boat-house. The sports hurried to camp. Master came down the path and met Strong. "I've got D-Dunmore's t-trout," said the latter. "Good!" Master answered; "that will give us an excuse to go and call on him." XIII THAT evening, while the others went out to sit by the camp-fire, Silas Strong put the children to bed and lay down beside them. They begged him for a story, he had neither skill nor practice in narration, he had, as the rustic merchant is wont to say, a desire to please. He knew that he had disappointed the children and was doing his best to recover their esteem. Possibly he ought to try and be more like other folks. He rubbed his thin, sandy beard, he groped among the treasures of his memory. Infrequently he had gone over them with Sinth or the Lady Ann, but briefly and with halting words and slow reflection. He had that respect for the past which is a characteristic of the true historian, but, in his view, it gave him little to say of his own exploits. He was wont to observe, ironically, that others knew more of them than he knew himself. Owing, it may be, to his little infirmity of speech, he had never been misled into the broad way of prevarication. Brevity had been his refuge and his strength. He regarded with contempt the boastful narratives of woodsmen.