DAYS IN DOVE DALE 47 



three, two; the last pursued me to the bitter 

 end. I threw off my hat, hoping he would 

 think that was me ; not a bit of it. 



Fortunately, it was more than six weeks since 

 my head underwent the operations of a bar- 

 ber ; consequently, my back hair was unusually 

 long. I felt a fizzle-whizzle on the hollow 

 which represents my bump of firmness ; with 

 all my might I struck that bump and smashed 

 the little wretch before he had time to unsheath 

 his horrid " beggonet." 



But my difficulties are not yet over. How 

 am I to regain my rod, my flies, and my net ? 

 I slowly returned to the neighbourhood of the 

 nest, dodging cautiously behind the bushes 

 till I approached the handle of the rod. I 

 then noiselessly unwound a quantity of line, 

 and then quietly withdrew the rod till I had 

 got it full fifty feet from that horrid twig ; 

 then I gave a sharp tug, fully determined to 

 sacrifice anything and everything. I tugged 

 and pulled, and the wasps became angry 

 again ; neither twig nor fly, neither gut nor 

 line, would give way. I pulled again, a long 

 pull and a strong pull, and then came away a 

 part of the twig with my bumble sticking in it, 



