28 A SCOTTISH FLY-FISHER 



ously to leeward as the boat was rowed leisurely along 

 the shore. Fortune befriended us. The boatman's 

 sanguine forecast was abundantly fulfilled, and his fear 

 of the fishermen in front of us was proved to have 

 been groundless. Breathlessly expectant, we were 

 just rounding the pleonastically-named Rhu Point 

 when my companion — who occupied the stern — casting 

 his fly-rod hurriedly aside threw himself upon his 

 trolling-rod and raised it high in air. While I was 

 still speculating on the reason of his flurry, the great 

 stone which held my line in check was jerked with a 

 clatter to the bottom of the boat, my 

 reel emitted the prolonged scream so 

 dear to the ears of the angler, and my 

 rod, becoming violently convulsed, dis- 

 played an alarming disposition to plunge 

 into the loch. 



" It's the grun' ! " cried John in 

 accents of dismay. 



" No it's not the ground ! " I shouted 



in reply, "but the confounded fish has 



fouled my minnow." 



Even as I spoke, however, my friend's salmon 



sprang from the water forty yards away. As my line 



maintained an almost vertical direction, and my rod 



