268 



THE ANGLER'S SOUVENIR. 



ingly. Now that the tyrant of a pike is removed, 

 the other fish begin to bite well. Every now and 

 then the float gives a sharp dash with the bite 

 of a perch, wriggles away with the slow bite of 

 an eel, or slides away under the seductive influence 

 of a chub or roach. If, in any interval between 

 the bites, his mind is troubled with the thought 

 of his present monetary embarrassments, the cloud 

 is dissipated by the next movement of his float. 

 Meanwhile, his good wife, when she discovers 

 where he has gone, and that his work is unfinished, 

 is growling and scolding at her husband in his 

 absence. But as evening approaches she re- 

 members that he left without his dinner, so she 

 despatches the youngest of their children, a flaxen- 

 haired, blue-eyed little thing, and her father's 

 especial favourite, to him with bread and cheese 

 and a bottle of beer. 



This adds to the angler's happiness, and with his 

 child by his side and a goodly pile of fish at his 

 feet, " he cares for nobody, no, not he." 



The long evening draws on towards dusk. The 

 sun goes down, and the air is so clear that the blue 

 of the western sky is scarce hidden by the pale 

 pink of the sunset flush. The air is full of a sleepy 

 sound ; the hum of insects of myriads of tiny 

 wings vibrating in golden clouds ; the wood-pigeons 

 in the oak copse ; the cattle lowing in the meadows ; 

 the splash and gurgle of the river ; and the rustling 

 of the leaves in the wind which rose at sunset. 



s 



