FRESH-WATER FISHES 209 



Past the haunts of moorhen and water-rail we 

 proceed in silence : now we can hear the rush of the 

 water through the old gates. One more bend of the 

 river, and we are there. The boat is fastened to 

 a stout alder branch close in shore, and then we 

 exchange significant looks, meaning, ' the left-hand 

 pool for you, the right for me.' 



Two bright dace fly in different directions, and we 

 are both into a good fish at once, for they are on the 

 feed. Soon they are in the boat, and with beaming 

 countenances we are on the point of taking another 

 pair of dace from the bait-kettle when a voice from 

 the foot-bridge over the weir asks us, in the name of 

 a certain place noted for the extreme warmth of its 

 climate, what we are doing. On looking up who 

 should we see but the owner of the property in rather 

 a negligent sort of morning costume ! For one thing 

 he wore a dingy white hat, and he had a Bardolph 

 nose that suggested port wine in plenty. He did 

 not know us, but we knew him well, for a more gruff 

 and cantankerous individual, when a bit riled, it 

 would have been hard to find. 



' Who are you ? Where do you come from, eh ? 

 Do you hear me? Confound you! are you deaf? 

 You shall remember this as long as you live, for you 

 shall receive the very utmost that the law permits.' 



P 



