72 THE BILLIARD TABLE POOL. 



knees. It seemed impossible to save him and 

 yet I had to try and pull him up chin over the 

 rim of the net. 



As I did so something gave way, and only 

 a dark mass of weeds seemed there instead of 

 the trout. I felt inside, he was there, free in 

 the net, swaying and arching in a way that 

 made me afraid to lift it up by the handle lest 

 the knuckle joint should give way. He was 

 mine, upon the bank, carried well up over the 

 stones in a spirit of caution and set down among 

 the nettles before I dared to unchain him : a 

 perfect fish in every way dwarfing the others 

 and fully a pound and a quarter. Coils of 

 line were still round my boot and took some 

 time to adjust but the fly, the ginger quill, was 

 unharmed and its barb as sharp as before. 



The time was now eight forty, and the 

 shallows above the island were still dimpled 

 with rising fish. The trio on the bank made 

 quite a warm place in ones heart, and their 

 capture appeared to have occupied only a few 

 minutes. It was now becoming unnecessary to 

 take cover. The whole sky was ablaze in waning 

 sunset so I waded slowly out a few yards above 

 the grass clump where fish were rising well 

 nigh between my feet. 



Away to the left in shallow water, lit up by 

 the warm afterglow, a good trout took my fly 

 among the stones, ran up and across the river, 

 jumped high, and vibrated off. He was a 

 twelve ouncer; the last of that size I hooked. 

 Four more, all over nine ounces, were taken, 



