The Vermont watchman. [volume] (Montpelier, Vt.) 1883-1911, 1888-08-08
Selected Storp.
The AutOcrat Of the Eddy.

and ramble of the soggy wheel have
not been heard in the quiet little valley
for many year, and the water splashes
over the alga-decked shaft and through
holes in the dam, throwing clouds of
cooling spray into the warm sunshine.
Collecting its scattered forces the
stream bounds off among the rocks,
slides under the ferns, and tarries for
an eddy at the bend where the scraggy
hemlock leans, giving the flecks of
foam time to circle about in the shade
before they are whirled away down
stream again.
Deeply sunken beneath the hemlock's
gnarled root is shelving drift boulder
of gneiss, and under the shelf big
trout has lived for many seasons. His
colors are dark. His protruding under
jaw is hooked, his eye is fierce and his
manner is aggressive. No other living
thing of his size or less would dare
claim share of the eddy. The beauti-
full cannbal has caught every baby
trout that ventured so far up or down
the stream this year, and rumor has it
that he swallowed one of his best chill
dren at a single gulp. The timid little
dace hide behind the stones in shallow
water and make eyes at him, but one
by one he takes them to his bosom and
shows them the folly of their ways.
When miller balances on the tip of
waving fern frond near the brink, the
old trout throws water at it with his
tail and then whirls it under, leaving a
single white wing to float off down
stream and make the other trouts'
mouth water.
The hemlock has stood on the bank
for couple of centuries and the trout
has lived under it for a decade, but |
have no dates for the boulder and the
stream.
When the winter storm fills the
branches with snow and cold winds
moan as they roam through the forest,
the eddy is covered with ice, but down
at the edge of the boulder the big trout
tucks the dark water snugly about him,
slowly waves his broad tail back and
forth, passes an occasional glassful of
water through his gills and cares moth
ing for the storm and the cold, but in
quiet contemplation looks forward with
pleasure to the sins of new season.
If the little white-footed evening mouse
hops tremblingly across the ice, the
trout is sorry he can not take her down
into his comfortable home, but there is
GOODNESS between the trout and the
mouse that he loves. and little does the
mouse suspect that the bump which she
felt on the ice under her feet was made
by the nose of one who would fain ap-
proach nearer.
When the birds come back in the
spring, and the blue-bird, nesting in
the sunny top of the hemlock, softly
carols love song about Bermuda, the
black and white warbler breaks the
brown monotony of the rough bark as
he glides up, down and around it, and
the aromatic fragrance of the hemlock
mingles with the gentler odor of red
maple and anemOnes and new moss,
the trout still spends his days near the
shelf of the boulder and watches for
the flies the phoebe bird misses. When
he plunges out after them the timid
rabbit hops convulsively backward and
opens his great wondering eyes more
widely than ever, and the red squirrel
scurries up the hemlock trunk, scolding
and jerking his tail to give emphasis to
his remarks; but nothing can the rabbit
and the squirrel see except a few cir
cling ripples chasing each other ashore
When the summer days come, the
cicada sounds his shrill call from the
dead limb overhead, the noise of clink.
ing scythes is borne from the bayfield,
to the woods and the hot breath of the
brakes almost smothers the asters or
the bank as they look longingly at theil
cool reflections in the brook. The sur
roundings have changed, but the trout
lies deep down in his favorite place. II
COW wades into the eddy for drink
he does not care. If clap of thunder
makes the ground tremble, he is only {
little bit uneasy; but there is one sounC
that puts him on the alert for danger
He does not often hear a fisherman's
step, it is true, but he associates few
startling events with that sound. The
stony New England soil can not com
pete with the fertile western lands; the
farmers boys have gone off to thu
cities and the few elderly people wht
remain care a good deal more for lee
ton and meetin' than they do for fish
ing or anything else. But sometimes
persons who were once boys 90 back t.
the old homesteads during the hot sum
mer days, and these old boys have no
forgotten the brook, nor the trout tina
phCJ uocu W Suing Ou IOrkeu WILLOW
stick, as slippery as it was yellow. Tn
big trout has not had experience witt
so very many hooks, but perhaps ono
ayear he has had misunderstanding
with a fisherman, and then lastin!
impressions have been made on hi
memory.
For eleven months and one week il
every year the hemlock, the boulder
the eddy and the trout are inseparable
but when in the late September day
the squealing wood-duck paddles anon
the floating dead leaves with his prett
red feet, and the musk-rat with thick
ening fur dives under the boulder i
search of winter home, the trout ha
departed.
Then it is that one can hear inqui
ing voices among the brook sounds
he will sit quietly and not disturb tn
nymphs. Under the hemlock's ROOT
the voices are low and congratulator,
The nymphs there know the old rasci
too well to wish him back again, bl
they seem afraid to speak much aboy
whisper, and they hardly dare enquil
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