FISHING FOR SEA-TROUT 213 



rejoiced to find the hook had gone home. Just at 

 first that fish played a gentle game, going slowly 

 down stream to deep water, and I could not 

 estimate his size ; but suddenly he resented my 

 restraining movements, and started to make things 

 lively, first thrashing the water as he came to the 

 surface, then making frantic runs here and there, 

 trying all the while to get near a mass of drift 

 brush which was caught against the bank at the 

 farther side of the stream. Had he once attained 

 his object it would have been good-bye to him, so 

 I gave him the butt as firmly as possible, gradually 

 steering the big fellow away from the danger, until 

 I had him in clearer and quieter water. Every 

 nerve in my body was tense with excitement, and 

 if that fish had escaped I believe I would have 

 cried — or sworn — but we kept together, though 

 between us there was sometimes seventy feet of 

 line, taut as a fiddlestring, now quiet, now ripping 

 through the water like a keen-edged knife. But 

 the end was near. Slowly the big fish was coming. 

 I had given him no rest and he was tired. 

 Choosing a quiet piece of shallow water, I reeled 

 him in toward the small landing net ; but the net 

 looked too small, and I feared it would not hold 

 him. Very gradually I worked the big fellow 

 toward it and at the critical moment scooped him 

 up ; but my surmise was correct — the net was too 

 small, and the fish gave a mighty jump and cleared 

 it, but fortunately the hook still held. To beach 

 him was now the only way, and I backed up to the 

 sandy bar and got my prize safely ashore. What 

 a beauty he was — three pounds, five ounces — not 



