THE FASCINATION OF LIGHT 137 



shoot the ducks that gather under it. But the night, 

 the silent marsh, and the lantern have charms that 

 the sportsman, with his legal and mechanical para- 

 phernalia, can never understand. Fish are devoted 

 fire-worshippers, and that boy who has never speared 

 by a jack-light is an object of compassion. 



The earth and the waters under the earth have no 

 more fascinating sight than the grey, silent form of 

 a Pike, moving and motionless in the shallow water, 

 a shadow more tangible than himself thrown by a 

 jack-light on the mottled yellow rocks and sands of 

 the bottom. A passing breath of wind, even the 

 slightest motion of the punt, breaks every shadow and 

 indentation into myriad fleeting ripples and waves of 

 light, transforming the slender, silent fish into a sheaf 

 of wriggling gUmmers. With the stilling of the 

 surface the waiting Pike and all the shadows and 

 lights of the bottom grow once more still and distinct. 

 There floats the greatest cannibal of the fishes, 

 paying his devotion to the flame, and above him 

 stands the greatest cannibal of all created beings 

 pointing his deadly spear. 



There is no moon. The stars cannot penetrate the 

 thickening clouds. The bay is still and its shores 

 invisible, the distant light of a farmhouse only serving 

 to intensify the lonely silence. The savage joy of that 

 moment repays the boy for all his laborious prepara- 

 tions. He brought two boards down the river from 



