54 THE PIKE 



early afternoon. All the morning the sere leaves 

 were lightly shed upon the water in fluttering hosts, 

 loosened by the frosts of the night. The sun, how- 

 ever, licked up the white from the grass, and a gentle 

 breeze in the afternoon enabled us to take to the 

 spinning tackle. 



Round and across the venerable keeper plod- 

 dingly pulled the boat with, until the sun was 

 reddening towards the west, only a 3-lb. fish hooked 

 and returned. To me then was bestowed a dull but 

 heavy strike and a leisurely movement of an unseen 

 object in the lake. It was one of those laggardly, 

 spiritless runs which leaves one for a moment in 

 doubt whether it is a fish or a log that is on the 

 hook. There was no pretence of rushing or fighting, 

 only an occasional indication that whatever was in 

 attachment was shaking its head with surprise and 

 resentment. The weight became heavier, too, as 

 time went on, and this added somewhat to the plea- 

 sure ; for it was clear now that it was a fish, and that 

 it was gradually gathering dead- weight from the 

 decaying weeds through which it ploughed. 



In consequence of this unresisting obstruction an 

 hour and more elapsed before I could bring the 

 thing to the surface. As both the keeper and myself 

 had forecast during the proceedings, all we saw at 



