rush, turned, and darted down-stream before Lew could reel in a foot of
line.

Charley forgot all about his own fishing in his desire to help land the
trout. "Don't let him get under that rock," he warned, coming close to the
brook. "He'll cut the line."

Lew increased the tension on the line and the fish stopped short of the
rock. For an instant the trout sulked and Lew reeled in rapidly.

"Guess I got him," he cried triumphantly, as the fish was drawn near to
the bank. But as he bent to grasp his prize there was a tremendous splash.
The trout leaped high out of water, then darted off again like a flash.
Lew had to give him line or lose him.

"He's a whopper, Charley," he cried. "Gee! I hope I don't lose him!"

"Here's a shallow place," cried Charley. "Work him into it and we can grab
him."

Lew maneuvered the trout toward the shoal. Again and again the fish broke
for the deeper water and Lew had to give him line. But each time he
stopped the rush and patiently worked the fish back toward the shoal. At
last the trout was fairly on the edge of it. Lew began to pull steadily on
his line and slid the tired fish into shallow water. It flopped helplessly
on the stones. Lew drew it to the bank and thrust a finger into its gills.
In another second the fish was dangling in air.

"Great Cæsar!" cried Charley excitedly. "Ain't he a beaut! He's the
biggest trout I ever saw."