176 GOLDEN DAYS 



the heavier stream, working in tempting 

 fashion. The day too was wonderful. A 

 warm dimness lay over all the valley ; 

 an autumnal stillness, broken from time 

 to time by the cry of a ploughman beyond 

 the river, or the chink of the chains as 

 the horses turned in the haze of the 

 furrowed land. Fainter still at intervals 

 came the distant sound of a shotgun ; 

 and near at hand the constant swish of 

 Jean Pierre's rod as he worked down 

 the glistening foam-flecked waters— the 

 click of his ancient wooden reel. It was 

 well past lunch-time when at last came 

 the hoped-for pull. A final cast under 

 the far alder- bushes resulted in a growing 

 and pursuing wave which broke to leave 

 a brilliant and fresh-run nine-pounder 

 madly splashing. 



Never before or since have 1 seen my 

 old friend flustered while he played a fish, 

 but on this occasion he was distinctly 

 nervous. He perspired profusely while 

 the crinkles at the corners of his mouth 

 twitched and deepened. An uncomfort- 

 able five minutes followed, in which the 

 lightly hooked salmon plunged and rolled 



