220 By Stream and Sea. 



lighter demands of pleasure and half-hearted sporting. The 

 little punt in which the friends put off was of the latter 

 category — a snug, round-bottomed, snub-nosed affair, just fit 

 for the work in hand. 



It was cold to be sure, but when they were fairly at work 

 — one with the oars, the other with the rod — a healthy glow 

 shone on their faces. Although a little snow had fallen in 

 the water, there had not been sufficient to constitute the 

 mixture the angler dreads as snow broth ; certainly not 

 enough to put the jack off the feed. There fell to Thorn- 

 bury's'lot on that twenty-fourth of December on Turnhill 

 broad as lively a bit of sport as often falls to one man in 

 one day. Spinning with small rudd — the store-box having 

 run out of roach and dace — he tickled the serrated jaws of 

 many a prowling luce. None of the fish captured were very 

 weighty, but the numbers told well. The mighty patriarchs 

 of the deep somehow kept quiet ; so did the very small 

 jack, but the five, six, and seven pound gentlemen appeared 

 to snap at anything and everything. They were taken far 

 out, and close to the boat ; in some instances the long dark 

 form would follow the spinning bait like a gliding shadow 

 to within six inches of the boat, then there would be a bang, 

 bang, and a swirl of the tail on the surface as" the fish 

 turned to go off with three or four flights of triangles in his 

 jaw for Christmas fare. Two fish actually leaped out of the 

 water in pursuit of the bait. 



Harvey enjoyed the success as much as the angler did — 

 true mark of the sportsman. Yet, as has been observed in 

 the prologue of this little story, some people are never 

 satisfied. The bottom of the boat was, before very long, 

 covered with the brightly-mottled, olive-hued slain; never- 

 theless, Thornbury would not be comforted until that 

 monster which every fisherman carries in his tackle-case, in 



