In this department of woods lore, Bill was so deeply ignorant that, not caring to lean _too_ heavily on his imagination, lest it should break and stick into him, he used to avoid it quite obstinately.

He would say--"Them youngsters is all alike, anyhow, an' it ain't worth while to waste no time a-studyin' 'em!" So here Uncle Andy had the field all to himself.

Whenever he undertook to enlighten the Babe on any such subject, Bill would go off somewhere and scornfully chop down trees.
* * * * * * Silverwater was fed by many brooks from the deep-wooded surrounding hills.

Toward one of these, on a certain golden afternoon, Uncle Andy and the Babe were betaking themselves along the shadowy trail, where the green-brown moss was soft under foot and their careful steps made no noise.

When they spoke it was in quiet undertones; for the spirit of the woods was on the Babe, and he knew that by keeping very quiet there was always the chance of surprising some fascinating mystery.
The two were going fishing--for Uncle Andy, with a finely human inconsistency, was an enthusiastic fisherman, and the stream toward which they were making their way was one of deep pools and cool "stillwaters" where the biggest fish were wont to lie during the hot weather.