AN AUTUMN FISHING 179 



good repute a second time, even '' back- 

 ing it up " and again recovering the water 

 yard by yard, till at its deepest part a 

 salmon came out with a bang and missed 

 the fly. Now this fish had been worked 

 over twice with no response. A third 

 time had drawn him like a tiger on its 

 prey ; yet subsequent and careful fishings 

 left him silent and apparently unconscious, 

 till at length in despair we gave him up. 

 We were nearing the bottom of the salmon 

 water, and at the magic hour when 

 salmon most do stir — to wit, the hour of 

 sunset ; moreover, we had now reached 

 the famous pool of Mary Morgan,* beloved 

 yet feared by every Breton poacher. 

 The river at this point is of stately 

 dimensions. The head waters of the pool 

 flow through a long and rocky channel 

 banked by high heather bluff ; its tail is 

 bushed and difficult, but in between there 

 is an open space, deep and mysterious. 

 Here Jean Pierre changed to a larger fly 

 and cast it out in the darkening water. 



* Mary Morgans are the Kelpies or river sirens of 

 Brittany. They do not appear to abound, yet there 

 are a few in the district of Morbihan. 



