PHYLLIS WAS COY 79 



three casts with his fly at me ; and at length wades 

 to me, and places me on the mainland at the gentle 

 Martha's side. Peace was made, but without 

 promise for the future. 



Henceforth, when I could escape control, I 

 divided my time between the water and the 

 meadows : in warm weather the water, in cold the 

 land possessed me. Then I began to tamper with 

 the minnows ; and, growing more ambitious, after 

 a sleepless night full of high contrivance, I betook 

 me at early dawn to a wood near the house, where 

 I selected some of the straightest hazel sticks 1 

 could find, which I tied together and christened a 

 fishing rod : a rude and uncouth weapon it was. 1 

 next sought out Phyllis, a favourite cow so called, 

 in order to have a pluck at her tail to make a line 

 with. But Phyllis was coy, and withheld her 

 consent to spoliation ; for when I got hold of her 

 posterior honours, she galloped off, dragging me 

 along, tail in hand, till she left me deposited in a 

 water-course amongst the frogs. The dairy-maid, 

 I think, would have overcome this difficulty for me, 

 had I not discovered that horse-hair, and not cow's 

 tail, was the proper material for fishing lines ; so 

 the coachman, who was much my friend, plucked 

 Champion and Dumplin, at my request, and gave 

 me as much hair (black enough to be sure) as 

 would make a dozen lines. For three whole days 

 did I twist and weave like the Fates, and for three 

 whole nights did I dream of my work. Some rusty 

 hooks I had originally in my possession, which I 

 found in an old fishing book belonging to my 

 ancestors. In fact, I did not put the hook to the 



