been a trout his surprise was very natural. "It was a rat," I mumbled, my finger in my mouth. "A rat?" he cried, and vanished. I thought him unsympathetic, thereby wronging him utterly. The blood gushed; I went up to the mill, my mind dark with misgivings. Blood poisoning, in my imagination, had already set in, and by the time I beheld the man of science hurrying towards me through the gloom my arm had been amputated. This extreme measure had failed, and they were measuring me for my coffin. Slattery carried a little thing like a slate pencil in his hand. He explained that it was a rod of lunar caustic, which, just before leaving his house that morning, he had found lying about and had slipped into his pocket. It was the first time he had ever carried such a thing with him. I swear that this happened.
Thus, with a sharp burning sensation, ended this eventful day. Fishing I had had none, but with a swift, a duck's egg, a waterhen, and a rat to my credit, I could not complain that I had lacked sport. We trudged home to Willows, I nursing my finger. At the gate my wife met me. "Any luck?" she inquired, with her usual hopeful smile. I felt in my creel for the egg. It was smashed. "Nothing," said I. "What!" she cried. "Not a
