248 DUCK-SHOOTING. 
for it was necessary to turn into the field from the 
main road—I walked down to the bank and jumped 
into a boat. Unfortunately, it was chained to a 
staple and padlocked; the inn-keeper had forgotten 
to give me the key. They were all the same but 
one, lying on the shore and turned bottom up, that 
did not seem to be sound. No time, however, was 
to be lost; the streaks in the east were beginning 
to turn red—an indication that the sun was rising— 
and the hour for fishing would soon be over. I 
launched the boat, such as it was, and pushed off. 
*‘Casting the fly is difficult, but casting thirteen 
flies is almost impossible. The boat was leaky; the 
fish did not rise, and the water did. I bailed as 
well as I could with one hand, and fished with the 
other, ti!l at last, almost exhausted, I saw the sun 
rise. As a desperate resource, however, the bait- 
box came into play. I removed the flies and substi- 
tuted a hook and worm; but while thus employed, 
and unable to bail, the water gained on me rapidly. 
Hardly had the bait touched the water before a fine 
fish seized it. I tried my best to pull him out, but 
he would not come—the rod was such a miserable, 
weak affair that it bent like a switch. The trout 
swam about in every direction, and tried to get 
under stumps and weeds and to break my line; but 
I held him fast and reeled in—for my friends had 
explained to me what the reel was for—and was 
about to lay down my rod and fish him out with 
the landing-net, when—the boat sank.” 
Cuorus—* Could you swim ?” 
