202 WOODLAND, MOOR, AND STREAM 



suvrin to no matter who if so be as one o' they big 

 'uns cud be grabbed. That 'ere boat hev bin out 

 day arter day with gents in it, arter they big 'uns ; 

 but never no luck. An' what riles the Squire is jist 

 this 'ere : them big 'uns snaps them 'ere furrin ducks 

 up, an' no mistake. I've sin that 'ere go : 't is quick 

 work, jist a bit o" splash, that's all. Do ye know 

 where the boathouse is ? Well, jist there 't is most 

 menjous thick, twenty feet, may be more. They big 

 alders hangs out over the water, dips in like ; an' if 

 any o' they furrin ducks gits swimming near there, 

 them big 'uns snaps 'em ; 't ain't no use fishin' for 

 'em, not a bit. They knows the smell o' hook an' 

 line afore it goes in the water.' 



I had designs on some of 'them 'ere big 'uns,' 

 time and chance permitting, and, although I did not 

 tell my rustic friend so, I knew why they refused live 

 bait in the shape of fish. The stream that supplies 

 the lake swarms with roach, gudgeon, and stone 

 loach, to say nothing of the trout. The pike swim 

 up to the mouth of the feeding stream, gorge them- 

 selves, like the gluttons they are, and then swim 

 lazily back to the deep water of the boathouse. 



' Are the family down yet ? ' I asked. 



* No, they ain't. I jest wish as they was, fur I 

 has summut ter du most days when they is ; an' I 



