al skill and care.
You are a big one, and a clever one too. It is much if I ever land you.
No net, or gaff, or anything. I only hope that there are no stakes here.
Ah, there you go! Now comes the tug."

Away went the big trout down the stream, at a pace very hard to
exaggerate, and after him rushed Hilary, knowing that his line was
rather short, and that if it ran out, all was over. Keeping his eyes on
the water only, and the headlong speed of the fugitive, headlong over a
stake he fell, and took a deep wound from another stake. Scarcely
feeling it, up he jumped, lifting his rod, which had fallen flat, and
fearing to find no strain on it. "Aha, he is not gone yet!" he cried, as
the rod bowed like a springle-bow.

He was now a good hundred yards down the brook from the corner where the
fight began. Through his swiftness of foot, and good management, the
fish had never been able to tighten the line beyond yield of endurance.
The bank had been free from bushes, or haply no skill could have saved
him; but now they were come to a corner where a nut-bush quite overhung
the stream.

"I am done for now," said the fisherman; "the villain knows too well
what he is about. Here ends this adventure."

Full though he was of despair, he jumped anyhow into the water, kept the
point of his rod close down, reeled up a little as the fish felt weaker,
and just cleared the drop of the hazel boughs. The water flapped into
the pockets of his coat, and he saw red streaks flow downward. And then
he plunged out to an open reach of shallow water and gravel slope.

"I ought to have you now," he said, "though nobody knows what a rogue
you are; and a pretty dance you have led me!"

Doubting the strength of his tackle to lift even the dead weight of the
fish, and much more to meet his despairing rally, he happily saw a
little shallow gut, or back-water, where a small spring ran out. Into
this by a dexterous turn he rather led than pulled the fish, who was
ready to rest for a minute or two; then he stuck his rod into the bank,
ran down stream, and with his hat in both hands appeared at the only
exit from the gut. It was all up now with the monarch of the brook. As
he skipped and jumped, with his rich yellow belly, and chaste silver
sides, in the green of the grass, joy and glory of the highest merit,
and gratitude, glowed in the heart of Lorraine. "Two and three quarters
you must weigh. And at your very best you are! How small your head is!
And