daughter wanted to look at a fly-rod, something light enough to be managed with one hand, and strong enough to land a perch or rock-bass, the proprietor pushed open the door in front of me and took me out.
"Aha!" exclaimed the bamboo. "Your fate is to be the companion and plaything of a little girl, who will probably set you to catching sunfish and minnows, and throw you down in the mud when she gets through with you. I know that I am destined for the trout streams, and I have an idea that I shall be taken to Canada to have a shy at the lordly salmon. Good-by; but I am sorry for you."
I did not thank the bamboo for his words of sympathy, because I did not believe they were sincere. I thought I could detect a hypocritical twang in them; but before I could tell him so, I was taken out of my case, and for the first time given an opportunity to see how I looked.
"There is a rod I can recommend. Lance-wood throughout, nickel-plated ferrules and reel-seat and artistically wound with cane and silk," said the proprietor, glibly. "I will
