horn sounded from the road, and Purfling with astonishing control of his muscles began to subside slowly, slowly into the long grass. I watched him apprehensively. When he had finally come to earth and had begun to crawl from the bank I said, "Purfling, for Heaven's sake! I'm off this minute." "It's not you," he said graciously, "it's my car. I have a meeting at Little Harmony to-night. Please don't disturb yourself."
The man had watched his fish for an hour, and at the first hoot of his waiting car he left it. This was not human, but it was Purfling. "My dear man," I cried, "try an alder over your fish before you go." He sighed again and went away from me, without a single backward look at the water. It occurred to me that his Christian name must be Talus.
Here was a wretched fish abandoned by Purfling with the utmost callousness. I am not callous. I assumed Purfling's responsibilities on the instant. I got up and looked over the rushes that fringed the bank.
Eighteen yards away in a rippling shallow lay the large trout which I had expected to see. It was moving its tail very gently. It lay in the shade of a willow branch. It was an excessively easy cast.
I began to throw an alder towards it, and at the
