The law permitted them to shoot loons—if they could. At any rate it was sport to try, and to see the lightning-like movements of the bird as it went under water at the twang of the bow-string.
"There's one thing about your outfit that doesn't look just right," said Uncle Joe, pointing to the heavy bait-rod which his nephew placed in the corner beside his long bow. "The idea of catching trout with a thing like that, and worms for bait! Before you go into the woods again I will see that you have a nice light fly-rod."
"But I can't throw a fly," said Joe.
"Well, you can learn, can't you?"
Joe said he thought he could, and there the matter rested for a whole year.
The next morning at four o'clock Joe Wayring was sitting on the wharf in front of the boat-house, watching Arthur Hastings, who was coming up the lake in the skiff. When he arrived Joe passed down to him two cases, one containing his long bow and quiver, the other his bait-rod and dip-net, a bundle of blankets, a soldier's knapsack with a change of clothing
