at all. This they do that I may imagine the beginnings of a hatch. They are malicious little things.
When I see them I cast to them, because I do not know for certain that they are not large trouts. Then they are delighted, and dash off giggling to tell the big fish about me.
I hate them.
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It is impossible to teach little graylings wisdom. There is one that I am always catching. I caught her six times the week before last. On the Monday and Tuesday once, on the Thursday twice, and on the Friday three times. I find that this makes seven occasions on which, in that one week, I dragged this same miserable little fish out on to the bank. It doesn't matter. It would be all the same to that little grayling if I had snared her seventeen times, yes, or seventy. Last week I killed her eight times, but without any effect upon her. She is still there.
If I could see the creature, perhaps I might avoid her. But she is invisible. A little grayling in fast water is as inconspicuous as a Marconigram as it throbs across the ether. Even could I locate this fish I doubt if I should be able to elude her, because she moves with intense rapidity.
