254 AN ANGLER'S SEASON 



Swish ! sh-sh-sh-z. 



That is an ugly sign for a beautiful 

 thing, the sound of the spray which 

 falls upon the water when a salmon 

 leaps and for a moment after. 



" Was that our fish loupin' ? " John 

 asked anxiously. 



" I couldn't see ; but I think so. At 

 any rate, he's turned and flying." 



Soon we were at the end of our thirty 

 yards, and the contents of the reel were 

 our sole resource. . . . All the hundred 

 yards of plaited silk were out . . . half 

 the backing of brown twine was gone . . . 

 ten yards or so more and rupture was 

 inevitable . . . but the fish had turned ! 

 He was keeping on the offside, too, far 

 away from the line of snags. 



Slowly he came upstream ; slowly, 

 slowly, the tense line softly humming ; 

 the while I reeled in inch by inch and 

 warily stepped backwards towards the 

 copse. 



" When does the moon rise, John ? " 



Though John was close behind me 



