A PECK OF TROUBLES 247 



drive it back to the place whence it started, the 

 place where an angler could easily cover it with a 

 fly again. He ran, and as he ran he promised that 

 he would do these things. And as he promised 

 the anglers protested that his labour was in vain. 

 Yet still he ran. 



The story ends there, and I do not know whether 

 the fish was caught, turned, and driven back. I 

 imagine not. Certainly it did not resume its posi- 

 tion, begin to rise again, and ultimately succumb 

 to the blandishments of Greenwell's Glory or what- 

 ever the fly was. If that had happened, naturally 

 the story would have had a long and ecstatic con- 

 tinuation, and I should have had to put it in another 

 chapter. As things are, I am not distracted by the 

 intervention of miracles. And, indeed, it would 

 be a miracle if any member of the Public by taking 

 thought ever assisted the angler to catch a fish, 

 because members of the Public are not so constructed 

 as to understand the ways of fishes. 



It is only necessary to reflect on some of the cus- 

 toms of the Public to realise this. How often have 

 we not seen a worthy gentleman, obviously possessed 

 of all the qualifications for being a kind uncle and a 

 good churchwarden, stop athwart our rising trout, 

 stand at gaze for a while, and then make vigorous 

 pointing motions with his walking-stick. How 

 often have we not heard him say as he pointed : 



