He didn’t say anything, but I noticed he turned up his collar and pulled down his hat over his eyes and ears.  The gilly said that perhaps I had too much line out, and so he took the rod and wound up a good deal of the line.  I liked this better, because it was easier to whip out the line and pull it in again.  Of course, I would not be likely to catch fish so much nearer the boat, but then we can’t have everything in this world.  Once I thought I had a bite, and I gave the rod such a jerk that the line flew back against me, and when I was getting ready to throw it out again, I found that one of the little hooks had stuck fast in my thumb.  I tried to take it out with the other hand, but it was awfully awkward to do, because the rod wobbled and kept jerking on it.  The gilly asked me if there was anything the matter with the flies, but I didn’t want him to know what had happened, and so I said, “Oh, no,” and turning my back on him I tried my best to get the hook out without his helping me, for I didn’t want him to think that the first thing I caught was myself, after just missing my husband—­he might be afraid it would be his turn next.  You cannot imagine how bothersome it is to go fishing with a gilly to wait on you.  I would rather wash dishes with a sexton to wipe them and look for nicks on the edges.

At last—­and I don’t know how it happened—­I did hook a fish, and the minute I felt him I gave a jerk, and up he came.  I heard the gilly say something about playing, but I was in no mood for play, and if that fish had been shot up out of the water by a submarine volcano it couldn’t have ascended any quicker than when I jerked it up.  Then as quick as lightning it went whirling through the air, struck the pages of Jone’s book, turning over two or three of them, and then wiggled itself half way down Jone’s neck, between his skin and his collar, while the loose hook swung around and nipped him in his ear.

“Don’t pull, madam,” shouted the gilly, and it was well he did, for I was just on the point of giving an awful jerk to get the fish loose from Jone.  Jone gave a grab at the fish, which was trying to get down his back, and pulling him out threw him down; but by doing this he jerked the other hook into his ear, and then a yell arose such as I never before heard from Jone.  “I told you you ought not to come in this boat,” said I; “you don’t like fishing, and something is always happening to you.”

“Like fishing!” cried Jone.  “I should say not,” and he made up such a comical face that even the gilly, who was very polite, had to laugh as he went to take the hook out of his ear.

When Jone and the fish had been got off my line, Jone turned to me and said, “Are you going to fish any more?”

“Not with you in the boat,” I answered; and then he said he was glad to hear that, and told the man he could row us ashore.

I can assure you, madam, that fishing in a rather wobbly boat with a husband and a gilly in it, is not to my taste, and that was the end of our sporting experiences in Scotland, but it did not end the glorious times we had by that lake and on the moors.