334 THE ROLL OF THE SEASONS 



a spring. There the warm-tinted red willow shoots 

 fling their reflection in the mirror, and show that it 

 is faintly lumped and streaked as it hurries through 

 the narrowing channel at the lower end of the pool. 

 The oaks from this sunny side are points of rosy 

 light, partly by reason of their own tints, partly 

 because the sun is westering. In the amber mass 

 of their reflection a bright harsh note is struck by 

 our scarlet float travelling to and fro in little jerks 

 as the captive gudgeon directs. For we have had 

 to acknowledge our failure to-day in the art of spin- 

 ning, and are bidding for our pike in a less sportsman- 

 like way. 



The pool is stirred on our side now and then by 

 a little V-shaped wave running rapidly towards the 

 shore, then turning and running obliquely out again. 

 Evidently the perch are on the feed, and it behoves 

 certain small fry to be very much on the alert. 

 Then, far out, towards the apron of falling water, two 

 bright silver fish leap hurriedly to right and left, as 

 some pike makes his rush at them from below. He 

 does not deign to chase his prey as the perch do, 

 but bides his time to make his rush again at them 

 or some other quarry. Of course, we imagine him 

 steering straight for the place where our lure awaits 

 him. But we have so often imagined such a thing 

 in vain that it is a matter for startled wonder when 

 we see the scarlet float make a dive as though to 

 an unfathomable depth. It is astonishing what depth 

 a float seems to find under such circumstances, even 

 in no more than a yard of water. The tautening of 

 the tackle makes it dimly visible for an instant before 

 the pike dashes off with a snap-hook fast in his jaw. 



