Jean Baptiste : A Story of French Canada 

Nevertheless, Jean Baptiste kept the hired man, and, while working on the farm somewhat more than formerly, still found time for hunting and fishing and the reading of books, while his mother, as though bewitched, smiled complacently at everything that he did.

But Jean sank lower still in the estimation of the neighbours, for he began to keep bad company, the very worst--that of a sorcerer. It came about in this way. Jean was having a day's fishing, and, although the trout were rising well, he was not content to stay in one place but kept moving on up the stream until he found himself, at sunset, standing on a rocky ledge beside a deep, dark pool, called the trou du sorcier. Precipitous cliffs, crowned with firs and pines, rose on all sides, enclosing a sort of amphitheatre into which the river plunged in a white cascade. Striking a granite ledge, the stream swirled around in a great eddy, a dark whirlpool, on the borders of which lurked giant trout, old warriors that had broken the tackle of many a luckless angler, wary fish that must be under the special protection of Satan himself--so often had they escaped the toils. It was a place of evil repute, little frequented by anglers. So much the better, as Jean knew, for the man of courage, and, although he had never taken a large fish in the place, he was determined to try his luck once more in the famous pool.

Looking into the deep water at his feet he saw a sight that made his heart leap to his throat. It was the head of an enormous fish, the biggest he had ever seen, now pushed out from beneath the rock until he could see the gills, and the lateral fins, now slowly withdrawn until only the snout was visible. On tiptoe Jean drew back; with grim haste attached a new fly; tested the casting-line and the supple rod; and then, with a dexterous turn of the wrist, launched the fly upon the foam-flecked surface of the pool, just beyond the hiding-place of the trout. It floated down stream in full view of the fish, but the ancient denizen of the pool made no response, nor did any of the lesser fry dare to rise, but kept at a respectful distance from the king of the river. Jean made several casts, tried another fly, and another, until he had gone through his book; then put on a grasshopper; and, finally, descended to worms, but without avail.