34 FISHING IN EDEN 



another. Ye can driss yer flees on gut at first, lads, 

 but efter a bit o' practice ye'll come to like hair 

 better. It doesn't brek off et shank, and fray like 

 gut, and it faws leeter on t' watter. But mind ye, 

 ye munnet be ower strang et arm. Let yer wrist 

 dea 't." 



In this way, and by this man, boyish imagination, 

 always strong, was laid hold of and fired to a white 

 heat. " Bob " never wearied us with explanations. 

 Explaining would have interrupted the sequence of 

 this kind of education. He worked and we watched. 

 Each stage of his work produced in us expectant 

 anticipation of the next, and was at first nothing less 

 than a thrilling mystery. 



Sometimes, as the evenings wore on, Tony would 

 turn up with his fiddle, and " Bob " would then put 

 the fishing-treasures away into the old cupboard, and 

 tell one of us to put a fresh log on the fire. 



The two of them would then begin to play and 

 sing. " Bob " had a fine baritone voice, and Tony 

 the most powerful bass I ever heard. When the 

 latter got fairly launched into one of his favourite 

 songs, such as " The Storm Fiend," all the brass 

 candlesticks, and the copper lid of the old warming 

 pan, would rattle like Tom Birbecks triangles in the 

 fife and drum band. 



The impulse to act a part, which is the very life- 



