But Duncan did not like the look of it, somehow. The
fish had been sheering off when it was hooked, and the deep plunge at
the outset was ugly.
"Now will you take the rod?" said Lavender to Sheila.
But before she could answer the fish had come rushing up to the
surface, and had thrown itself out of the water, so that it fell on
the opposite bank. It was a splendid animal, and Duncan, despite his
doubts, called out to Ingram to slacken his hold. There was another
spring into the air, the fish fell with a splash into the water, and
the line was flying helplessly in the air, with the two flies floating
about.
"Ay," said Duncan, with a sigh, "it wass foul-hooked. It wass no
chance of catching him whatever."
Lavender was more successful next time, however, with a pretty little
grilse of about half a dozen pounds, that seemed to have in him the
spirit and fight of a dozen salmon. How he rushed and struggled, how
he plunged and sulked, how he burrowed along the banks, and then ran
out to the middle of the pool, and then threw himself into the air,
with the line apparently but not really doubling up under him! All
these things can only be understood by the fisherman who has played in
a Highland stream a wild and powerful little grilse fresh in from the
salt water.
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