OF A BLANK DAY 85 



Dusk found me on the point of land which lay 

 between the end of a mill-tail and the main river. 

 A snipe was bleating about in a neighbouring 

 meadow. There was a primrose sky above one 

 down, a young moon above the other. A water- 

 rat emerged from shadow and took its slanting 

 course across the river, bent on some petty busi- 

 ness or other. Idly T cast my line (by this time I 

 was fishing a sedge, wet, down-stream) athwart its 

 course, to see the furry thing dive, always a 

 charming spectacle. It dived. I had hooked a 

 water-rat. 



A man approached on the other side of the 

 mill-tail, and, thinking that I had a fish, congratu- 

 lated me on my fortune. I perceived that he was 

 Slattery. About the same time I drew a highly 

 incensed water-rat on to the gravel at my feet. 

 He was hooked lightly in the extreme point of the 

 tail. As I lovingly unfastened the hook he turned, 

 and with hideous ingratitude bit me to the bone 

 of the first finger of my left hand. Then he 

 rushed into the river. I uttered a loud cry. 

 Slattery, supposing I had lost my fish, cried, 

 " Hard lines ! " I said, " It's bitten me." " Bitten 

 you ? " he repeated. " Bitten you, did you say ? " 

 It occurred to me that I had not told him what I 

 had been catching. If he believed it to have 



