Big Game - A Story for Girls

"You did that well! Magnificently well!" he cried approvingly. "But

you must take the descent carefully, please. There are one or two

sudden dips which might be awkward if you were not prepared. I know

them all. Shall I,--would you,--will you take my hand?"

"Thank you!" said Margot, and laid her hand in his with an acceptance as

simple as if he had been her own brother. It was a very pretty little

hand, in which its owner felt a justifiable pride, and it lay like a

white 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 a

tight, protecting clasp, and together they began the descent.

For the most part it was easy enough, but the awkward places came so

often and unexpectedly that it did not seem worth while to unloose that

grasp until the bottom was safely reached. Margot had a dream-like

sensation of having wandered along for hours, but in reality it was a

bare ten minutes before she and her guide were standing on level ground

by 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 with

preparation.

"I'll just make another cast, to show you how one sets to work. I take

a 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 the

winter 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 out

her hand to receive one of the hairy morsels on her palm, and bending

over it in unaffected admiration. "But how clever of you! How can you

have the patience? It must be dreadfully finicky work!"

"It is a trifle `finicky,' no doubt!" He laughed over the repetition of

the word. "But it's a refreshing change to work with one's hands

sometimes, instead of one's brain. Now shall I give you your first

lesson in the art? Don't imagine for a moment that fishing means

standing still for the hour together, with nothing more exciting than

the pulling-in of your fish the moment he bites. That's the idea of the

outsider who does not know what adventure he is losing, what hope and

suspense, what glorious triumph! Like most things, it's the struggle

that's the glory of the thing, not the prize. Shall I soak this cast

for you, and give you your first lesson?"