unds. Lady Mary, who had no children of her own, was
immensely interested in Tony and little Fay, and would give Jan more
advice as to their management in an hour than the vicar's wife ever
offered during the whole of their acquaintance. But then _she_ had a
family of eight.

But the first time Tony went to the river Jan took him alone; and not to
the near water in Squire Walcote's grounds, but to the old bridge that
crossed the Amber some way out of the village. It was the typical
Cotswold bridge, with low parapets that make such a comfortable seat for
meditative villagers. Just before they reached it she loosed Tony's
hand, and held her breath to see what he would do. Would he run straight
across to get to the other side, or would he look over?

Yes. He went straight to the low wall; stopped, looked over, leaned
over, and stared and stared.

Jan gave a sigh of relief.

The water of the Amber just there is deep and clear, an infinite thing
for a child to look down into; but it was not of that Jan was thinking.

Hugo was no fisherman. Water had no attraction for him, save as a
pleasant means of taking exercise. He was a fair oar; but for a stream
that wouldn't float a boat he cared nothing at all.

Charles Considine Smith had angled diligently. In fact, he wrote almost
as much about the habits of trout as about wrens. James Ross, the
gallant who carried off the second Tranquil, had been fishing at Amber
Guiting when he first saw her. Anthony's father fished and so did
Anthony; and Jan, herself, could throw a fly quite prettily. Yet, your
true fisherman is born, not made; it is not a question of environment,
but it is, very often, one of heredity; for the tendency comes out when,
apparently, every adverse circumstance has combined to crush it.

And no mortal who cares for or is going to care for fishing can ever
cross a bridge without stopping to look down into the water.

"There's a fish swimming down there," Tony whispered (was it instinct
made him whisper? Jan wondered), "brown and speckledy, rather like the
thrushes in the garden."

Jan clutched nervously at the little coat while Tony hung over so far
that only his toes were on the ground. She had brought a bit of bread in
her pocket, and let him throw bits to the greedy, wily old trout who had
defied a hundred skilful rods. On that first day old Amber whispered her
secret to Tony and secured another slave.

For Jan it was only another proof that Tony poss