128 The Angler's Secret 



"Now, Doctor, light your cigar and 

 adjust your rod, and while you ply it 

 upon the weakfish I '11 clear away the 

 supper mess and lay you a night couch 

 where your sleep will prove 'sweeter and 

 sounder, lighter and more luxurious than 

 princes catch on beds of eiderdown and 

 velvet' here 's your bait." 



The day is nearing its end. The red 

 sun is just dropping behind the fringe of 

 dark-green upland, and already the flashes 

 of Fire Island light pierce the gray 

 shadows that gather in the east. The 

 green herons are flying toward the inland 

 to roost, and the night herons are coming 

 out to feed. The gulls gather on the 

 loamy flats and exposed sandbars, and 

 their restrained screams mingle with the 

 cluck of the clapper rail, the whistle of 

 the curlew, and the loud but mellow call 

 of the golden plover and yellow shank, as 

 they wing over the surf and meadow land. 



The doctor, a few minutes before so 

 surly with the world and himself, is now 



