ldbridge who caught a four-pounder with a bumblebee."

"I caught a six-pounder at Oxford with a mouse's head myself," Guy
declared.

The friends looked at him in the admiration and envy with which anglers
welcome a pleasant, companionable sort of lie. It was a bad move, for it
seemed as if by that lie he had drawn closer the bonds of sympathy
between himself and his guests. They visibly warmed to his company, for
Brydone at once invited himself to another "tot" and was obviously
settling down to a competitive talk about big fish; while Willsher's
first shyness turned to familiarity, so completely indeed that he asked
if Guy would mind his moving the furniture in order to try to explain to
that fathead Brydone the exact promontory of the Greenrush where he had
caught thirty trout in an hour when the mayfly was up two years ago.

Half past ten struck from the church tower, and Guy became desperate.
There was nothing he hated so much as asking people to go, which was one
reason why he always discouraged them at the beginning; but it really
seemed as if he must bring himself to the point of asking Brydone and
Willsher to leave him to his work. He decided to allow them until a
quarter to eleven. The minutes dragged along, and when the quarter
sounded Guy said he was sorry, but that he was very much afraid he would
have to work now.

"Right oh," said Brydone. "We'll tootle off." But it took ten minutes to
get them out of the house, and when at last they disappeared into the
mazy garden Guy was in a fume of anxiety about his tryst. He could not
now go round by Rectory Lane, as he had intended at first. No doubt
Brydone and Willsher would stay talking half an hour on the bridge, for
the rain had stopped and they had given the impression of having the
night before them. In fact, Brydone had once definitely announced that
the night was still young. Yet in a way the fact of their nearness and
of his having to avoid them added a zest to the adventure.

How dark it was and how heavily the trees dripped in the orchard! Guy
pulled the canoe from the shed and dragged it squeaking over the wet
grass; not even he in the exaltation of the moment was going to swim the
Hellespont.

When he was in the canoe and driving it with silent strokes along the
straight black stream; when the lantern was put out and the darkness was
at first so thick that like the water it seemed to resist the sweep of
his paddle, Guy could no longer imagine tha