CHAPTER EIGHTEEN.
TROUT FISHING.
There was a short, somewhat embarrassed silence while Margot kept hereyes fixed on the scene of the late meal, the two smouldering fires, thepiled-up hampers and baskets, and the Editor drummed with his fingers,and chewed his moustache.
"Er--" he began haltingly at last. "How do you think it has gone?"
"You mean the--"
"Picnic! Yes. My first entertainment. I feel responsible. Think theyenjoyed it at all?"
"I'm sure of it. Immensely! They thawed wonderfully. Think of theduet! To hear Mr Macalister singing was a revelation. It has been adelightful change from the ordinary routine. And the trout! The troutwas a huge success. How amiable of it to let itself be caught soconveniently!"
The Editor smiled, with the conscious pride of the experiencedfisherman.
"There was not much `let' about it. He led me a pretty dance before hegave up the struggle, but I was on my mettle, and bound to win. Do youknow anything about fishing, Miss Vane?"
"I?" Margot laughed happily. "Just as much as I have gleaned fromwatching little boys fish for minnows in Regent's Park! I don't think Ihave ever particularly wanted to know more. It seems so dull to standwaiting for hours for what may never come, not daring to speak, in caseyou may scare it away! What do you think about all the time?"
He turned and looked at her at that, his lips twitching with amusement.Seated on the ground as they were, the two faces were very neartogether, and each regarded the other with the feeling of advancing astep further in the history of their acquaintance.
"He really _is_ young!" decided Margot, with a sigh of relief. "It'sonly the frown and the stoop and the eyeglasses which make him look asif he were old."
George Elgood looked into the pink and white face, and his thoughtsturned instinctively to a bush of briar roses which he had seen andadmired earlier in the day. So fresh, and fair, and innocent! Were allyoung girls so fragrant and flower-like as this? Then he thought of thelittle prickles which had stung his hand as he had picked a bud from thesame bush for his buttonhole, and smiled with latent mischief. Afterall, the remembrance did not lessen the likeness. Miss Margot looked asif she might--under provocation--display a prickle or two of her own!
"What do I think about?" he repeated slowly. "That is rather adifficult question to answer; but this good little river, I am thankfulto say, does not leave one much time for thought. There's a littlechannel just beyond the bridge that is a favourite place for sea trout.Would you like to see it?"
"Might I? Really? Oh, please!" cried Margot, all in a breath. Hervery prettiest "please," accompanied by a quick rise to her feet whichemphasised the eagerness of her words.
George Elgood lost no time in following her example, and together theywalked briskly away towards the head of the dell; that is to say, in theopposite direction to that taken by the other members of the party.George Elgood had picked up his fishing-tackle as he went--by an almostunconscious impulse, as it seemed--and unconsciously his conversationdrifted to the all-absorbing topic.
"If we take a sharp cut across this hill--I'll give you a hand down thesteep bits!--we hit the river at the best spot. You have been grumblingat the wet weather, but you will see the good effects of rain, from afisherman's point of view. The river is full from bank to bank, rushingdown to the sea. It is a fine sight, a river in flood! I don't knowanything in Nature which gives the same impression of power and joy.That's where Norway has the pull. Her mountains can't compare with theSwiss giants, but everywhere there is a glorious wealth of water. Nocalm sleeping lakes, but leaping cataracts of rivers filling wholevalleys, as my little stream here fills its small banks; roaring anddashing, and sparkling in the sun. Norway is perfection, from afisherman's point of view; but there is plenty of sport to be foundnearer home. I have had no cause to complain for the last fortnight.This way--to the right! It's just a little rough going at first, but itcuts off a good mile. You are sure you don't mind?"
Margot's laugh rang out jubilantly. She scrambled up the steep mountainpath with nimble feet, easily out-distancing her guide, until thehilltop was reached, and she stood silhouetted against the sky, whilethe wind blew out her white skirts, and loosened curling tendrils ofhair.
Below could be traced the course of the river, winding in and out indeep curves, and growing ever broader and fuller with every mile ittraversed. The sunlight which played on it, making it look like asilver ribbon, played also on the yellow gorse and purple heather; onthe long grey stretch of country in the distance; on that softer blueplain joining the skyline, which was the sea itself. A breath of saltseemed to mingle with the aromatic odour of the heather, adding tenfoldto its exhilaration.
As Margot stood holding on to her hat, and waiting for her companion'sapproach, she felt such a glorious sense of youth and well-being, suchan assurance of happiness to come, as is seldom given to mortals toenjoy. It was written in her face, her radiant, lovely young face, andthe light in the eyes which she turned upon him made the shy scholarcatch his breath.
"You did that well! Magnificently well!" he cried approvingly. "Butyou must take the descent carefully, please. There are one or twosudden dips which might be awkward if you were not prepared. I knowthem all. Shall I,--would you,--will you take my hand?"
"Thank you!" said Margot, and laid her hand in his with an acceptance assimple as if he had been her own brother. It was a very pretty littlehand, in which its owner felt a justifiable pride, and it lay like awhite snowflake in the strong brown palm stretched out to meet it.
For just a moment George Elgood kept his fingers straight and unclasped,while he gazed downward at it with kindling eyes, then they closed in atight, protecting clasp, and together they began the descent.
For the most part it was easy enough, but the awkward places came sooften and unexpectedly that it did not seem worth while to unloose thatgrasp until the bottom was safely reached. Margot had a dream-likesensation of having wandered along for hours, but in reality it was abare ten minutes before she and her guide were standing on level groundby the side of the rushing river.
"Thank you! That was a great help," she said quietly. George Elgood,with a sudden access of shyness, made no reply, but busied himself withpreparation.
"I'll just make another cast, to show you how one sets to work. I takea pretty big fly--the trout like that. These are the flies--all sizes,as you see. I am rather proud of them, for I make them myself in thewinter months, when one can enjoy only the pleasures of anticipation.It's a good occupation for a leisure hour."
"You make them yourself!" Margot repeated incredulously, stretching outher hand to receive one of the hairy morsels on her palm, and bendingover it in unaffected admiration. "But how clever of you! How can youhave the patience? It must be dreadfully finicky work!"
"It is a trifle `finicky,' no doubt!" He laughed over the repetition ofthe word. "But it's a refreshing change to work with one's handssometimes, instead of one's brain. Now shall I give you your firstlesson in the art? Don't imagine for a moment that fishing meansstanding still for the hour together, with nothing more exciting thanthe pulling-in of your fish the moment he bites. That's the idea of theoutsider who does not know what adventure he is losing, what hope andsuspense, what glorious triumph! Like most things, it's the strugglethat's the glory of the thing, not the prize. Shall I soak this castfor you, and give you your first lesson?"
"Oh, please! I'd love it! It would be too kind of you!" cried Margoteagerly. She had not the faintest idea what "soaking a cast" mightmean, and listened in bewilderment to a score of unfamiliar expressions;but it is safe to affirm that she would have assented with equal fervourto almost any proposition which her companion made.
There and then followed the first lesson on the seemingly easy, but inreality difficult, task of "casting," the Editor illustrating his lessonby easy, graceful throws, which Margot tried in vain to imitate. Shegrew impatient, stamping h
er feet, and frowning fiercely with her darkeyebrows, while he looked on with the amused indulgence which oneaccords to a child.
"Are you always in such a hurry to accomplish a thing at once?"
"Yes, always! It's only when you don't care that you can afford towait."
"It sometimes saves time in the end to make haste slowly!"
"Oh, don't confound me with proverbs!" cried Margot, turning a flushed,petulant face at him over her shoulder. "I know I am impetuous andimprudent, but--the horrid thing _will_ twist up! Don't you think Imight have a demonstration this time? Let me watch, and pick up hints.I'm sure I should learn more quickly that way, and it would be lessboring for you. Please!"
At that he took the rod, nothing loth, and Margot seated herself on theground, a trifle short of breath after her exertions, and not at allsorry to have the chance of looking on while some one else did the work.She was intently conscious of her companion's presence, but he seemedto forget all about her, as wading slightly forward into the stream hecast his fly in slow, unerring circuit. How big he looked, how strongand masterful; how graceful were the lines of his tall lean figure!From where she sat Margot could see the dark profile beneath thedeerstalker cap, the long straight nose, the firmly-closed lips, thesteady eyes. It was the face of a man whom above all things one couldtrust. "A poor dumb body," Mrs Macalister had dubbed him, scornfully;but Margot had discovered that he was by no means dumb, and that oncethe first barriers were broken, he could talk with the best, and bringinto his conversation the added eloquence of expression. She recalledthe lighting of his absorbed eyes as he had looked down at her own whitehand, and flushed at the remembrance.
Margot had often pitied the wives and sisters of enthusiastic fishermenwho had perforce to sit mum-chance in the background, but to-day she wasconscious of no dissatisfaction with her own position. She possessedher full share of the girl's gift of building castles, and it would notbe safe to say how high the airy structure had risen before suddenly therod bent, and the Editor's intent face lit up with elation. The fishwas hooked; it now remained to "play" with him, in professionalparlance, till he could be landed with credit to himself and his captor.
For the next half-hour Margot was keenly, vividly interested in studyingthe tactics of the game. The reel screamed out, as the captive made agallant dash for liberty; the Editor splashed after him, running hastilyby the side of the river, now reeling in his line, now allowing it fullplay; and at the distance of a few yards she ran with him, now holdingher breath with suspense, now clasping her hands in triumph, until atlast, his struggles over, the captive floated heavily upon the stream.
It was the end for which she had longed throughout thirty of the mostexciting moments that she had ever known; but now that victory wassecured, woman--like she began to feel remorse.
"Oh, is it dead? Have you killed it? But it's horrid, you know--quitehorrible! A big strong man like you, and that poor little fish--"
"Not little at all! It's a good six-pounder," protested the fisherman,quick to defend his sport against depreciation. "No--he's not dead yet,but he soon will be. I will just--"
"Wait! Wait! Let me get out of the way." Margot flew with her fingersin her ears, then pulled them out to cry--"Is it done? Is it over? CanI come back?"
"Yes; it is all right. I've put him in my bag. You will appreciate himbetter in his table guise. I'll take him back as a peace-offering toMrs McNab, for her own evening meal. We have already had our share atthe pic--"
Suddenly his hands fell to his sides, he straightened himself, andturned his eyes upon her, filled with puzzle and dismay.
"The pic--"
"--Nic!" concluded Margot faintly. Rosy red were her cheeks; a weightas of lead pressed on her eyelids, dragging them down, down, beneath hisgaze. "I--I--_forgot_! We were to have gone to find them! Do yousuppose they are--hiding still?"
He laughed at that, though in somewhat discomfited fashion.
"Rather not! Given us up long ago. It must be getting on for an hour.I can't think how I came to forget--"
Margot glanced at him shyly beneath her curling lashes.
"It was the fish! A fisherman can't be expected to remember anythingwhen he is landing a trout!" she suggested soothingly. Nevertheless sheremembered with a thrill of joy that his forgetfulness had dated back toa time when there had been no fish in prospect. "Do you suppose theyhave gone home?"
"We will go and see. From that mound over there we can overlook thepath to the inn. Perhaps we had better keep a little in the background!It would be as well that they should not see us, if they happened tolook up--"
If it were possible to feel a degree hotter, Margot felt it at thatmoment, as she followed George Elgood up the little hillock to theright, and, pausing just short of the top, peered stealthily around. Asimultaneous exclamation broke from both lips; simultaneously they drewback, and crouched on their knees to peer over the heather.
There they went!--straggling in a row in the direction of the inn, theparty of revellers who had been so basely deserted.
First, the clergyman, with his hands clasped behind his back, his headbent in thought; a pensive reveller, this, already beginning to repent aheavy, indigestible meal; next, Mrs Macalister, holding her skirts incharacteristic fashion well up in front and sweeping the ground behind;a pace or two in the rear, her spouse, showing depression and wearinessin every line of his body. Yet farther along the two young men carryingthe empty hampers; last of all, at quite a little distance from therest, the figure of the Chieftain stepping out with a tread even moreconspicuously jaunty than usual, his hands thrust deep into his pockets,his head turned from side to side, as if curiously scanning thehillsides.
At one and the same moment Margot and the Editor ducked their heads, andscrambled backwards for a distance of two or three yards. There was amoment's silence, then instinctively their eyes met. Margot pressed herlips tightly together, George Elgood frowned, but it was all in vain; nopower on earth could prevent the mischievous dimples from dipping in hercheeks; no effort could hide the twinkle in his eyes--they buried theirheads in their hands, and shook with laughter!
When at last composure was regained, George Elgood pulled his watch fromhis pocket, glanced at the time, and cried eagerly--
"There is still an hour before we need be back for dinner. As well behanged for a sheep as a lamb. Let us go back to the river, and try ourluck once more!"
Big Game: A Story for Girls Page 17
