20 AN ANGLER AT LARGE 



net a 2^ pounder, after one rush of six yards and 

 three minutes of holding on. What though, 

 conscience-stricken, we turned him in again ? We 

 had him. Let us have him again. Let us turn 

 him in once more, and good luck go with him, 

 slowly, under the willow roots. 



Or would we have a few fat brace with the 

 sedge? The feast is spread. We have only to 

 name our dish. Our good friend will see that we 

 are provided. He can meet our every taste. For 

 an epicurean meal of choice morsels, for a great 

 lusty gourmandising, he has the ingredients ready 

 to hand, and his kindly presence will add savour 

 to every mouthful. 



Seasons come, perhaps, when we cannot actually 

 meet. Our occasions take us elsewhere. But we 

 are not utterly separated from the river. At any 

 moment we have only to shut our eyes to be on 

 his banks, catching fish. And then our circum- 

 stances smile. We are reunited. And as we 

 cross the lowest meadow to where, deep and calm 

 under the protecting copse, our friend awaits us 

 by the boundary fence (there is surely a great 

 trout under the thorn bush), we catch a kindly 

 wink from him far up where he turns westward, 

 and our heart beats its answer to his welcome. 



