DAYS STOLEN FOR SPORT 165 



needed much tempting. On one of these occasions 

 just beyond a black boulder there were two grand 

 fish, one of which came boldly at a Childers but, on 

 closer inspection, did not like its looks. Later in 

 the day it rose at a Jock, but did not take it nor 

 either of the many other patterns I showed him on 

 that day. We courted him again and again and 

 were encouraged in our attentions by the notice he 

 took of every fresh fly we showed him. From this 

 we gathered that we had not put before this epicure 

 what he hoped for. Indeed, it was easy to divine 

 what he told his mate about the many gaudy 

 disappointments that he inspected, and we decided 

 to try Mac's old Brown. 



A huge swirl and a tightening line, and then 

 Mac's voice : " Be canny, be canny, the fly is very 

 old." By this time the fish had felt the hook 

 and was off on a long rising rush that ended in 

 a leap in spite of the lowered top. Then came the 

 raising of it again to feel the fish. What an anxious 

 moment when the prize is over twenty pounds ! 

 Shall I feel him or is he gone ? We breathed again 

 and with a stronger faith in the old gut eye that 

 had stood the strain of such a rush and leap. It 

 held until the fish was gaffed and here it is, the only 

 relic I have, except his gaff (which with his last 

 words he left for me), of my good gillie, Mac. 



