A Summer Idyl 123 



Then I turned to my line little dreaming what a 

 curious lesson in angling I was about to receive. 

 Dip, dip, dip went the cork below the water, but 

 never stopped long. The jerks were just like those 

 of a small eel. Very carelessly did I commence to 

 draw it in. As I was doing so, however, the fish 

 suddenly seemed to become endowed with the strength 

 of a demon. The reel creaked as the line flew out 

 like lightning. ' Let him go,' yelled the keeper. ' By 

 the Lord Harry, if it's not the pike.' I did let him 

 go. And now the fish getting into mid-stream and 

 not being hooked went slowly, yet as if he knew there 

 was something wrong he rose to the surface. I 

 noticed my line getting higher and higher until at 

 last it seemed to lie on the top of the water. Then 

 there was a swish and plunge, the report of a gun, a 

 cloud of smoke, and my line dangled loose. 



' Pull him out,' said the keeper. 



' He's off,' said I. 



' He's not, for I shot him,' said the keeper. 



Thereupon I drew the line in, and joy ! I felt after 

 all something at the end of it. 



' It's the dead pike,' said the keeper. 



' We'll soon see,' I answered, and pulled it ashore. 

 I lifted it easily enough, for to my chagrin what I had 

 hooked was the smallest, most insignificant-looking 

 mite of a red-finned perch it has ever been my lot to 

 see. I stared at it in blank amazement. Imagina- 

 tion failed to conceive how that trembling creature 



