A MAYFLY STORY. 27 



It had grown fat, heavy, and cunning, and now hardly ever troubled 

 to devour any of the frail insects which fluttered over its head. It 

 had discovered that a more substantial meal to support its pon- 

 derous body was to be had by feeding principally upon its tiny, 

 tender offspring. So it passed its days in ease and comfort, and, 

 when darkness had fallen, sought for its food. 



* # # * # * 



Down to the brink of the bonny river of an evening came 

 Parson Jones from the vicarage on the hill. It was a pleasant 

 sight to see him coming down the road, with his slow, long- 

 measured stride, and his ruddy, good-natured face moulded into an 

 almost perpetual smile. In one hand he carried his old fly-rod, in 

 the other a worn net with a long handle, whilst across his great, 

 broad shoulders was slung a somewhat dilapidated creel. In his 

 heavy, nailed boots Parson Jones stood six feet two inches, his dark 

 grey Norfolk suit showing off his stalwart figure to the best 

 advantage. Two keen eyes, with which, through a pair of spec- 

 tacles resting upon the end of his small, plump nose, he made a 

 thorough survey of his surroundings, together with his grey hair, 

 suggested him as being an old and experienced angler. And it was 

 so. Long had he been acquainted with every bend, pool, and 

 shallow. His knowledge of the " gentle art " was such that what 

 he knew not, we might almost say, the bridge knew. He was a 

 familiar figure by the river, since, throughout the season, when not 

 11 tending his flock," he was either stalking trout or revelling in the 

 wonders and beauties of nature. But if Parson Jones had a weak- 

 ness it was a deathless desire to capture that monstrous fish which 

 dwelt by the bridge. One night, years ago, he had risen it ; in fact, 

 he had actually " pricked " it. Since then he had toiled hard to 

 accomplish his ambition ; he had tried every way and means 

 permitted by the rules to hoodwink that fish. But the old trout, if 

 the truth were known, no doubt enjoyed the attentions bestowed 

 upon it by its reverend friend or, rather, enemy and, maybe, 

 waited and watched of an evening for his coining. 



