CHAPTER XII 



THE TWENTY- SIX-POUNDER 



HENRY DICKSON, the keeper, said the water was too 

 low for anything but bait. Until we had a spate 

 the ' fush ' would not look at a fly. He was quite 

 certain of that. Had not the laird and his sons, 

 Mr. Robert and Mr. Walter, tried all their favourite 

 flies, and no salmon caught for a fortnight at least ? 



Cousin Henry had just arrived for a week's stay, 

 and had made up his mind to kill a fish, by legitimate 

 persuasion if possible but the fish must be killed. 

 The river a late one was one of the best in that 

 part of Scotland, and it had a reputation to sustain. 

 This, clearly, was sufficient justification for heroic 

 measures being tried if necessary. 



The weather continued fine and clear, with a touch 

 of frost at night it was the month of October and 

 the much- desired spate seemed further off than ever. 

 Two days' grouse-driving and some cover- shooting 

 occupied the first four days of Cousin Henry's stay ; 

 but longing eyes were cast on the river, and especially 

 on the pool underneath the railway-bridge, where a 

 fish well over 20 pounds was known to lie. He had 

 shown himself only last Sunday, and in a taking spot, 

 too. 



Then came an off- day. Would Henry like to 



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