THE ANGLERS OF THE DOVE.
BY HARRIET MARTINEAU.
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CHAPTER III. THE HEART OF NEEDWOOD FOREST.
The next morning was mild as a March day; and the sun came up so clear in the pale blue sky that it might be doubted whether anglers would like it. Sampson, however, knew the shady places all along the Dove, and engaged that the gentleman should have a fair chance for his sport. It was drawing near noon when the two were standing in the shadow of the rock below the Castle, with a little pannier of fish on the grass, when a shout from above made them look up; and they saw a man letting himself down the steep in a rash sort of way.
“What a hasty fellow you are!” cried Stansbury, as soon as the other came within hearing. “Why could not you come down by the right road?”
“We had just passed up it,” answered Felton, “and I thought I would not trouble the warder to fumble with his keys so soon again; and you seemed so near! and the way looked easier than it is.”
“Yes, indeed; or do you suppose my Lady would leave it open?”
“It is not unguarded: there is no point unguarded. The sentinel warned me. I must show him that I am safe.”
And Felton leaped over the stream by the scattered rocks, and waved his hat towards where a pike gleamed on the terrace above.
“What shall I do with all my fish?” asked Stansbury. “Some must appear on my yeoman host’s board: but see what we have caught in three hours!”
“Send them up yonder for her Grace’s table,” Felton advised.
“You are not in earnest?” said Stansbury.