122 THE SALT OF MY LIFE 



" teJl stories and I know a d-d bad one when 

 " I hear it ! " Yet George never refers to his 

 memory in terms other than affectionate. 



Unhappily, his obstinacy was not always so 

 innocuous to himself as when he persisted in mis- 

 sing mackerel on the wrong tackle. On one Sun- 

 day afternoon for instance, I took him over to 

 ' Troy Town " to introduce him to " Q," whether, 

 as a surprise visit or by appointment I forget. 

 At any rate, we found " Q," whom, though suffi- 

 ciently my senior at Gifton to have left the school 

 before I got there, I had known for some years, in 

 his garden overlooking the beautiful harbour, and 

 there we spend a very pleasant couple of hours, 

 they discussing the impending completion of " St. 

 Ives," I listening, drinking tea and enjoying a 

 sensation as near contentment as was proper to 

 a day without fishing. Then, in the cool of the 

 evening, we drove back to Mevagissey and found 

 that the family had put our supper ready and 

 gone to evening chapel " down under." Even 

 as we walked up the little path to the cottage, the 

 stern Wesleyan hymns sounded from the pious 

 little valley. On the table lay a brace of fine 

 lobsters from the store, but, alas, the sun had 

 got at them before the cook, and they were tainted. 

 A Bournemouth friend, one of the party, who 

 had stayed home to write letters, joined with me 

 in urging their removal to the back yard. There 



