unkind word of any living soul—or dead one, for that matter. He tolerates everybody, rejoices in their successes, unaffectedly laments their disappointments. Of an evening he takes his relaxation among the rabbits. And he cannot fish, and never attempts to accompany an angler.
I say, he cannot fish.
And he never attempts to accompany an angler.
I will now tell you of another river keeper, that you may understand the fullness of the last-named virtues which are Joe's.
This adventure befell me because one night a kindly-disposed man offered me a day on some priceless water which he had in Hampshire. I was going to Scotland or Manchester or one of those places where there are no chalk streams almost immediately, but I could just sandwich in my day if I took it on the morrow. Therefore I hardly went to bed at all, and at the hour when I was in the habit of recomposing myself to the slumber from which a persistent yet dispirited housemaid had waked me, I got out of the down train into God's second county.
The wind blew soft from the south-west, and the sky looked as if the sun were scotched for the day. I told myself that I should certainly catch a great many trout, and I almost believed it. I swore that an angler's is the only incomparable
