92 LINES IN PLEASANT PLACES 



There was not long to wait on Saturday morning. 

 The first line to be put out was at the left hand, baited 

 with sand eel, and I had barely touched the next to lift 

 it from its groove when the winch at the left screamed 

 as if hurt. The fish was on, but it was proclaimed at 

 once an insignificant one. Still, the rites and cere- 

 monies must be duly observed ; the boat must go to 

 shore, the angler must step over the thwarts and stand 

 on terra firma. All this trouble for a kelt of about 6 Ib. 

 After the lapse of an hour Tom Thumb gave signal. 

 The gudgeon, which had a wobbling spin, had been 

 touched twice already by short comers ; now it was 

 fairly taken just as the boat was turned on its zigzag 

 course. For anything I could feel it might be a trout. 

 It ran out a few yards, and meekly came in to slow 

 winching. The same lack of spirit was maintained 

 even when I landed, but a surprise came as I retired 

 further up the brae, for the fish sharply resented the 

 liberty I was taking with him, as if he objected to my 

 contempt. In truth, he inspired my respect during 

 the next ten minutes ran across and down, and gene- 

 rally bucked up, as a modern school miss would say. 

 He gave up dawdling, and fought it out briskly. By 

 and by we got a glimpse of a flash of silver, and it was 

 an undoubted fish. The gaff, which I had not seen 

 yesterday, now appeared, and the second boatman 

 stood by with the priest to administer the quietus to a 

 lovely spring salmon of 17 Ib. 



Within a quarter of an hour I was rudely roused from 

 a reading of The Fair Maid of Perth by the sand eel 

 rod to the left, and here was a fish powerful and alert 

 from the start. He was held hard, but took out line 

 persistently ; if I winched up a few yards they were 

 torn angrily off again. And so the contest was main- 

 tained, and intensified when I stood on the turfy slope. 



