A LITTLE ALIEN IN THE WILDERNESS It was too hot and clear and still that morning for the most expert of fishermen to cast his fly with any hope of success.

The broad pale-green lily pads lay motionless on the unruffled breast of Silverwater.

Nowhere even the round ripple of a rising minnow broke the blazing sheen of the lake.

The air was so drowsy that those sparks of concentrated energy, the dragonflies, forgot to chase their aerial quarry and slept, blazing like amethysts, rubies and emeralds, on the tops of the cattail rushes.

Very lazily and without the slightest reluctance, Uncle Andy ruled in his line, secured his cast, and leaned his rod securely in a forked branch to await more favorable conditions for his pet pastime.