234 ON SURREY HILLS. 



reach him ; 'tis too risky for me ! Give him a turn ; 

 kill him if you can ! " As we neared the haunt of the 

 fish, I prepared for action : I knew I could trust my 

 tackle. The lure was a bright dace of near half a 

 pound, and I intended to spin it. The old boy had 

 been pottering about in his own fashion : he had 

 tried all the means he could think of before he men- 

 tioned the lay of the pike to me. After watching 

 the spot for half an hour I found the pike was at 

 home, and moreover, that he was on the feed. Now 

 for it ! The cast is delivered up-stream and spun in 

 a slanting direction to his lair There is a sensation 

 like the hooking of a sunken bough, but far more 

 lively. " Take that ! " say I ; and the pike has it 

 home, and no mistake, for he leaps like a trout clear 

 of the water, sure sign that he has got the hook. 

 Then he makes for deep water. It is of no use, for 

 we hit him up again, and turn him for the shallows, 

 where we have him as we please. He is a good fish : 

 Billy calls him a rattler. But that we can see about 

 presently, if all holds good. Smack goes his tail as 

 he hits the water, and he tries to bore down, but it 

 is no good, for the next minute he is at our feet, a 

 twelve-pounder. 



