The Fishing of the Free Folk 87 



copse, and wood everything is thrilling with new life 

 and song. 



It isn't altogether laziness which keeps me daw- 

 dling over breakfast till the clock marks half-past 

 eight. Too much hurry is a serious sin, especially 

 in connection with fishing. It is all very fine for 

 some folk to prate about " gray-dawn starts " and 

 unholy things of that kind ; but the fact is, one sel- 

 dom takes any fish worth taking very early in the 

 day. My experience goes to show that from about 

 ten till noon, and from about four till sunset, are the 

 best hours of the twenty-four for the sort of fishing 

 herein referred to. Later in the season it might 

 be worth while to get to work soon after sunrise ; 

 but that is another matter. 



Because there has been a lot of recent digging 

 about the grounds, the big bait-keg contains hun- 

 dreds of fat worms well covered with moist earth, so 

 the filling of the bait-box is a simple matter. But, 

 all unsuspected, there is an ordeal to be passed. 

 Crouched at the gate, his quivering nostrils emitting 

 a thin, wiry whining, is Don. His lemon head and 

 snow-white body tell of the stout old pointer blood, 

 while his strategic position indicates a thorough 

 knowledge of what is in the wind. He has been 

 ready for hours, and he wants to go. Upon the 

 dining-room table stands a good-sized basket, and 

 beside it, as keen and watchful as Don, stands a 

 trim, girlish figure. Evidently she too wants to go, 

 and, according to her custom, she has got ready 

 before asking, and baited up the lunch-basket in a 

 deadly way. 



It is contrary to law that both girl and dog go, 



