56 DAYS STOLEN FOR SPORT 



CHAPTER VI 



Let the fisherman his art repeat. 



Where bubbhng eddies favour the deceit. 



MINNOV\*S, PLEASE — SHOOTING A FOX — A TERROR OF 

 A PIKE — A BIG OTTER 



From behind the bush where my early morning's 

 treadings had trampled the rank growth into the 

 soft clay, I waited patiently for a cloud to spread its 

 shadow, and then cast my lure and brought it back 

 through the darkened, tumbling water with my 

 ever\' ner\"e expectant. How much the big fi?h 

 was responsible for this strained effort I cannot say, 

 but certainly it was owing much to the fact that 

 our host had told me there were several good trout 

 in the pool, and some one or two of them must be 

 beneath this rush. A dozen casts, with intervals 

 between for coming clouds, lessened my hope to 

 nothingness and, as my leaving the shelter of the 

 bush to spin from an open and elevated spot — the 

 onl\' other place available — would be to show my 

 every movement to the inhabitants of the pool, I 

 decided to try again the method that got me the 

 hsh before breakfast. 



Prior to any change of tackle it was my duty to 

 say a word to Nell, who, to demonstrate that all 

 was well and nothing mattered, was doing crochet 

 v/ork which, when she saw me coming, she stretched 

 several ways and then patted on her knee, while 

 her perky head went sideways to look at it, then up 

 at me to ask if I did not think she was looking better. 

 I had no chance to answer this before it was added to 

 by: 'How lucky we were to be invited here when 



