222 AN ANGLER AT LARGE 



system, necessities of life, pang-stayers. The 

 shackles of civilisation became green withes to 

 bind the Samson of animalism. Under the 

 compelling influence of the law, Nature abhors 

 a vacuum, I knotted on a huge alder and combed 

 the pool wet. 



Somewhere in one of my boxes was a Silver 

 Doctor. 



On a water where pike occasionally appear 

 a wagtail spinner is a legitimate item in the dry- 

 fly angler's outfit. 



In the miller's garden was a manure heap. It 

 was full of brandlings. I began to strip the 

 dressing from a hook. 



But the clock struck seven, to save me from 

 crime. In half an hour dinner would be served. 



"If," I said violently, as I threw hook and 

 brandling from me, "anybody thinks that I am 

 going to dine off a pope's nose with 4 Ib. of 

 trout in my basket, he is mistaken profoundly 

 mistaken." I went home. In spite of my con- 

 viction that nature, ultimate judge, was with me, 

 I wore a hang-dog air as I slunk past Mrs. Pescod's 



