io8 The Confessions of a ^Poacher. 



Looking up, a constable was watching our 

 operations in an interested sort of way, and for 

 a moment we thought we were fairly caught. 

 Just as we were about to abandon the net and 

 make off through the wood, the man spoke. 

 In an instant I saw how matters stood. He 

 failed to grasp the situation even came down 

 and helped us to draw the net on to the bank. 

 In thanking us for a silvery five-pound salmon 

 we gave him he spoke with a southern 

 accent, and I suppose that poachers and 

 poaching were subjects that had never entered 

 into his philosophy. 



