Ah! I cannot tell how long! I
heard the church clock strike, but missed the number of the strokes. Soon
he started again down-stream into the shallows, leaping at the end of his
rush--the monster. Then he came slowly up, and 'jiggered' savagely at
the line. It seemed impossible that any tackle could stand these short
violent jerks. Soon he showed signs of weakening. Once his huge silver
side appeared for a moment near the surface, but he retreated to his old
fastness. I was in a tremor of delight and despair. I should have
thrown down my rod, and flown on the wings of love to Olive and the
altar. But I hoped that there was time still--that it was not so very
late! At length he was failing. I heard ten o'clock strike. He came up
and lumbered on the surface of the pool. Gradually I drew him, plunging
ponderously, to the gravelled beach, where I meant to 'tail' him. He
yielded to the strain, he was in the shallows, the line was shortened. I
stooped to seize him. The frayed and overworn gut broke at a knot, and
with a loose roll he dropped back towards the deep. I sprang at him,
stumbled, fell on him, struggled with him, but he slipped from my arms.
In that moment I knew more than the anguish of Orpheus. Orpheus! Had I,
too, lost my Eurydice? I rushed from the stream, up the steep bank,
along to my rooms. I passed the church door. Olive, pale as her orange-
blossoms, was issuing from the porch. The clock pointed to 10.45. I was
ruined, I knew it, and I laughed. I laughed like a lost spirit. She
swept past me, and, amidst the amazement of the gentle and simple, I sped
wildly away. Ask me no more. The rest is silence."

* * * * *

Thus ends my hapless friend's narrative. I leave it to the judgment of
women and of men. Ladies, would you have acted as Olive Dunne acted?
Would pride, or pardon, or mirth have ridden sparkling in your eyes? Men,
my brethren, would ye have deserted the salmon for the lady, or the lady
for the salmon? I know what I would have done had I been fair Olive
Dunne. What I would have done had I been Houghton Grannom I may not
venture to divulge. For this narrative, then, as for another, "Let every
man read it as he will, and every woman as the gods have given her wit."
{4}

A TWEEDSIDE SKETCH

The story of the following adventure--this deplorable confession, one may
say--will not have been written in vain if it impresses on young minds
the supreme necessity o