ense of injury had vanished,
and buoyant expectation had taken its place.

Three men were fishing. One was far in the distance, one about three
hundred yards up stream, and one Tony recognised as Mr. Dauncey,
landlord of "The Full Basket," the square white house standing in its
neat garden just on the other side of the bridge. The fourth gentleman,
who had forgotten his hat, and was clad in a holland smock, sandals,
and no stockings, leaned over luxuriously, with his elbows on the low
wall and his bare legs thrust out. He was very still, even trying not to
twitch when William licked his bare legs, as he did at intervals just to
show he was there on guard.

There had been heavy rain in the night and the water was discoloured.
Nobody noticed Tony, and for about an hour nothing happened. Then Mr.
Dauncey got a rise. The rigid little figure on the bridge leaned further
over as Mr. Dauncey's reel screamed and he followed his cast down
stream.

Presently, with a sense of irritation, Tony was aware of footsteps
coming over the bridge. He felt that he simply could not bear it just
then if anyone leaned over beside him and talked. The footsteps came up
behind him and passed; and William, who was lying between Tony's legs
and the wall, squeezed as close to him as possible, gave a low growl.

"Hush, William, naughty dog!" Tony whispered crossly.

William hushed, and drooped as he always did when rebuked.

It occurred to Tony to look after this amazing person who could cross a
bridge without stopping to look over when a reel was joyfully
proclaiming that some fisherman was having luck.

It was a man, and he walked as though he were footsore and tired. There
was something dejected and shabby in his appearance, and his clothes
looked odd somehow in Amber Guiting. Tony stared after the stranger,
and gradually he realised that there was something familiar in the back
of the tall figure that walked so slowly and yet seemed trying to walk
fast.

The man had a stick and evidently leant upon it as he went. He wore an
overcoat and carried nothing in his hand.

Mr. Dauncey's reel chuckled and one of the other anglers ran towards him
with a landing-net.

But Tony still stared after the man. Presently, with a deep sigh, he
started to follow him.

Just once he turned, in time to see that Mr. Dauncey had landed his
trout.

The sun came out from behind the clouds. "The Full Basket," the river,
brown and rippled, the bridge, the tw