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Updated: June 3, 2025
He couldn't even breathe, for his gill-covers were squeezed down against the sides of his head as if he were in a vise. A trout's method of respiration is to open his mouth and fill it with water, and then to close it again and force the water out through his gills, between his cheeks and his shoulders, about where his neck would be if he had one.
But life does not stand still while one is wishing, and so the Tailor did that for which there was neither remedy nor substitute; and came down this morning as other mornings to the pail and broom. Then he jumped up and ran to the foot of the stairs, shouting, "Mother! mother! Trout's luck has come again."
The stomach walls of the autumn yearling trout, which is artificially reared on soft food, do not show any marked abnormality in the way of thinness; but as the trout's age increases, so does the thickness of the stomach wall decrease in proportion to its size.
Look at them grasshoppers. Off they goes to glory and doan't knaw no more 'n the dead wheer they'll fetch up. I've seed 'em by the river jump slap in the water, almost on to a trout's back. So us hops along and caan't say what's comin' next. We 'm built to see just beyond our awn nose-ends and no further. That's philosophy." "Ban't comfortin' if 't is," said Phoebe.
"No," said Yates, flushing; "I thought I should find near you the tackle used here, so I didn't burden myself." "That seems reasomble," said Jim, "but it ain't. A trout's a trout anywhere, an' ye hain't got no reel. Ye never fished with anything but a white birch pole in yer life." Yates was amused, and laughed. Jim did not laugh.
Following a quick tattoo of hoofs on the baked earth came a flash like the trout's leap for the fly a curving plunge the sound as of a breaking willow branch, and then palpitating silence. The dun cloud of dust settled, disclosing the foam-flecked, sweat-blackened colt, oddly beautiful in her poised immobility. Near her lay Jasper Lane, face downward. The pony sniffed at his crumpled sombrero.
It wasn't really very considerate in him to prey on those biting, stinging flies, for in after years they would be his best defenders against anglers and fishermen, but consideration doesn't seem to be one of the strong points in a brook trout's character.
Trout's second toilet, and Miss Mapp, after prolonged thought as to her most dramatic moment of entrance in the crimson-lake, determined to arrive when she might expect the rest of the guests to have already assembled.
"Condy, I'll lose him I know I shall; you, YOU take the rod!" "Not for a thousand dollars! Steady, there, he's away again! Oh, talk about SPORT!" Yard by yard Blix reeled in until they began to see the silver glint of the trout's flanks through the green water. She brought him nearer.
She considered the embers on the stone, and then her grey eyes travelled back to the spare, tweed-clad figure beside it. He smiled in his slow way a rather attractive smile. "No. I've just concluded some pagan rites in connection with a small trout!" He nodded gravely at the stone. "That was a burnt sacrifice." With whimsical seriousness he told her of the trout's demise and high destiny.
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