212 AN OPEN CREEL 



showed no sign of slackening. Another two-pounder 

 was just in the net when an exclamation was heard 

 from the bridge. A cyclist had paused to look on, 

 and was much impressed with the sight of somebody 

 actually catching something. " What a beauty !" he 

 said, as the chub was thrown out into the meadow 

 after the rest. This remark suggested that a heaven- 

 sent opportunity was at hand. " Would you care 

 about some fish ?" I asked guilelessly. The cyclist 

 nodded with strange enthusiasm, and was warmly 

 pressed to help himself. He clambered down over the 

 wall with his mackintosh cape, into which he packed 

 the fish with some grass. He was full of gratitude at 

 being told to take them all, and departed, bearing 

 some twenty pounds of chub at his saddle-bow, and 

 leaving me to reflect that appreciation of true merit is 

 hard to find, but when found, pleasant to contemplate. 

 After he had gone fishing was resumed. A fish 

 plunged at the coachman, but would not take it. It 

 was so obviously bigger than anything caught so far 

 that it seemed worth while to change the fly, and 

 several patterns were tried in vain. At last a wet fly, 

 a big alder, with a wash-leather tail, was put on, and 

 cast in with a plop just where the fish had risen. A 

 wave came out from the bushes at once, the line 

 tightened, and a gentle strike fastened the hook into 

 something better worth catching. The fish showed 

 plenty of fight, but after one rush under the twigs, 

 from which a steady strain brought it out, there was 

 no real danger, and before long a plump three-pounder 

 was landed. He was deemed worthy of a place in the 

 big creel, and was accordingly killed and put in. After 



