268 AN ANGLER AT LARGE 



horn sounded from the road, and Purfling with 

 astonishing control of his muscles began to subside 

 slowly, slowly into the long grass. I watched him 

 apprehensively. When he had finally come to 

 earth and had begun to crawl from the bank I 

 said, " Purfling, for Heaven's sake ! I'm off this 

 minute." " It's not you," he said graciously, "it's 

 my car. I have a meeting at Little Harmony 

 to-night. Please don't disturb yourself." 



The man had watched his fish for an hour, and 

 at the first hoot of his waiting car he left it. This 

 was not human, but it was Purfling. "My dear 

 man," I cried, " try an alder over your fish before 

 you go." He sighed again and went away from 

 me, without a single backward look at the water. 

 It occurred to me that his Christian name must 

 be Talus. 



Here was a wretched fish abandoned by Purfling 

 with the utmost callousness. I am not callous. 

 I assumed Purfling's responsibilities on the instant. 

 I got up and looked over the rushes that fringed 

 the bank. 



Eighteen yards away in a rippling shallow lay 

 the large trout which I had expected to see. It 

 was moving its tail very gently. It lay in the 

 shade of a willow branch. It was an excessively 

 easy cast. 



I began to throw an alder towards it, and at the 



