THE SALMON OF CLOOTIE'S HOLE. 349 



keep its pretty well engaged for some considerable 

 time. 



It was about twelve when this event took place ; 

 at three the scene had shifted some way down the 

 river. Look at this man Avho is sitting on the 

 soaking bank trying to light a pipe, and with shaking 

 hand protecting his last match from the wind and 

 the now heavy rain. His face is very red and hot, 

 his cap is gone, and his hair is in a dreadful state of 

 confusion. His cape has gone too, and he is evidently 

 thoroughly wet. His knuckles and his nose show 

 signs of numerous small scars and scratches, as if he 

 had been violently rubbing them against rocks and 

 thorns and indeed he has. But the ineffable con- 

 tentment of his smile makes one forget all other 

 deficiencies. Though he is for the moment xm- 

 occupied, the salmon is not lost the long legs and 

 flying coat-tails of Johnnie, who is in close attend- 

 ance on him, may be seen rapidly turning a bend in 

 the river; and the knowledge of this fact, and the 

 thought of Angus MacHowdie going home in a cart 

 with one broken leg, perhaps two, almost make the 

 cup of happiness overflow. We (for the dishevelled 

 object is ourselves) are only resting a moment, and 

 trying to get back a little of the breath we have been 

 so liberally expending for the last three hours. 



No man ever saw such a fish as that. To begin 

 with, lie was a big, clean-run, powerful salmon ; but 

 if he had had only these qualities to rely on, we 



