AN AUTUMN FISHING 187 



bark. Then the old poacher turned to 

 me again, speaking in his slow and un- 

 accustomed French. ... " Est-ce-que 

 vous avez le meme Bon Dieu en Angle- 

 terre que nous avons . . . ici . . . avec 

 nous i 



***** 



The cure's voice hailed me across the 

 room, where I found Jean Pierre wrapping 

 the larger fish within a dish-cloth, while 

 he explained that the temperature was 

 over-warm. He added in excuse that 

 tobacco smoke was not good for young 

 and fresh-run fish ! But we all knew that 

 a wet cloth overnight can work wonders 

 on an elderly ill-coloured salmon. Every- 

 one drew round the table where the great 

 slain hero lay: doubtless he blushed the 

 more beneath his snowy shroud. With 

 brimming glasses raised, we gave the 

 Breton toast to the season's heaviest fish. 

 ..." Ilia mad."* 



Now you of Tay and Tweed, of Bann 

 and Shannon, you who may turn the con- 

 temptuous lip, boasting of thirty-pounders, 

 I'd have you know, ours was a Breton 



* " Good health." 



