His first impression was that he might as well attempt to
throw a fly to the moon, but presently things began to look more
hopeful, and he found at length that, when the fly did get just beyond
the downward rush of the fall, it was swept by the current into certain
glassy deeps, where he could work it pretty well. Hard as he labored,
however, that jerking little gray shrimp (for that was what the fly
looked like in the water) could not stir anything. He worked away until
even the indefatigable Robert said he had done enough; then he reeled
up; and perhaps he was not sorry to regain the top of this sheer
precipice, where there was but that single fir-stump and a few loose
branches of birch between him and the seething and surging whirlpool
below.
He was more fortunate in the Geinig Pool, which Miss Cunyngham also
compelled him to take, good-naturedly remarking that she had her fish
already, and that he must have its fellow to carry home in the evening.
There were some welcome clouds about now, and the rock from which he had
to cast over the Geinig Pool afforded him a much better foothold than
the fir-roots. At first things did not seem favorable, for he went over
all the deep, smooth water without moving a fin; in fact, he had fished
almost right to the end of the pool, when, in the very act of recovering
his line, he got hold of something.
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