Leading the way immediately to a place beneath the falling stream, where there was a deep, eddying pool, Mr. Garthwaite baited and threw in his line before I had fixed the joints of my fishing-rod.  This first difficulty overcome, I involuntarily plunged into some excellent, but rather embarrassing, sport with my line and hook.  I caught every one of my garments, from head to foot; I angled for my own clothes with the dexterity and success of Izaak Walton himself.  I caught my hat, my jacket, my waistcoat, my trousers, my fingers, and my thumbs—­some devil possessed my hook; some more than eel-like vitality twirled and twisted in every inch of my line.  By the time my host arrived to assist me, I had attached myself to my fishing-rod, apparently for life.  All difficulties yielded, however, to his patience and skill; my hook was baited for me, and thrown in; my rod was put into my hand; my friend went back to his place; and we began at last to angle in earnest.

We certainly caught a few fish (in my case, I mean, of course, that the fish caught themselves); but they were scanty in number and light in weight.  Whether it was the presence of the miller’s foreman—­a gloomy personage, who stood staring disastrously upon us from a little flower-garden on the opposite bank—­that cast adverse influence over our sport; or whether my want of faith and earnestness as an angler acted retributively on my companion as well as myself, I know not; but it is certain that he got almost as little reward for his skill as I got for my patience.  After nearly two hours of intense expectation on my part, and intense angling on his, Mr. Garthwaite jerked his line out of the water in a rage, and bade me follow him to another place, declaring that the stream must have been netted by poachers in the night, who had taken all the large fish away with them, and had thrown in the small ones to grow until their next visit.  We moved away, further down the bank, leaving the imperturbable foreman still in the flower-garden, staring at us speechlessly on our departure, exactly as he had already stared at us on our approach.

“Stop a minute,” said Mr. Garthwaite suddenly, after we had walked some distance in silence by the side of the stream, “I have an idea.  Now we are out for a day’s angling, we won’t be balked.  Instead of trying the water here again, we will go where I know, by experience, that the fishing is excellent.  And what is more, you shall be introduced to a lady whose appearance is sure to interest you, and whose history, I can tell you beforehand, is a very remarkable one.”

“Indeed,” I said.  “May I ask in what way?”