ON A BUCKINGHAMSHIRE LAKE. 103 



long -hoped-for was about to happen. As 

 always, it was the unexpected that happened. 

 After travelling a little way in snatchy jerks, 

 the "pilot" stopped; and, carefully gathering 

 in the slack line, I struck: With the strike 

 came the sound of a sharp, loud, crack; the 

 line fell in folds, and my rod clattered on 

 the floor of the punt, broken at the top 

 ferrule, and again, half-way down the butt! 

 Grasping the line, which was now running out 

 rapidly, I mercilessly hauled the pike in. But 

 the chances were all against my securing him. 

 Even as the fish came to the side, he opened 

 a cavernous mouth, and, with a furious shake 

 of the head, freed himself from the hook. 



I declined the generous offer of my 

 friend's rod, and applied myself, with all the 

 dignity and composure that I could muster, to 

 the task of straightening out the ghastly muddle 

 of broken wood and tangled line which met 

 rny gaze. Examination of the wreckage re- 

 vealed hitherto undetected worm-holes, and 

 these, in conjunction with the weeds, had 



