26 AN ANGLER'S LINES. 



of their meal. Desire for further conquest 

 waned. One more fish, and I would go. 

 Then a duck swam by. It was mine ancient 

 enemy. Still doubtful about the composition 

 of my float, she turned sharply, and made 

 towards it. With fell intent, I drew it closer 

 in. She followed. Closer, and closer still, 

 and then I smote her over the head with the 

 top of the rod. It was a pleasing incident 

 to me. So engrossing was my satisfaction that 

 the required fish took my paste and escaped 

 with impunity. 



The steelyard told of a 10 Ib. catch, and 

 the duck pond had acquired a reputation. But 

 among the fish there were none " as long as 

 this." 



I fear the farmer is a bit of an angler 

 after all. 



