VIII
The sun was warm on the meadow, and although the bushes along its marginwere leafless, the meadow itself had a greenish look, and the feel ofthe air was such that Gay, upon whom silence and invisibility had beenenjoined, longed to dance in full sight of the trout and to sing at thetop of her voice: "Oh, that we two were Maying!" Instead, she crouchedhumbly and in silence at Pritchard's side, while he studied the dimplingbrook through his powerful field-glasses.
Gay had never seen red Indians except in Buffalo Bill's show, where itis made worth their while to be very noisy. But she had read her Cooperand her Ballantyne,
"Ballantyne, the brave, And Cooper of the wood and wave,"
and she knew of the early Christian patience with which they aresupposed to go about the business of hunting and fishing.
Pritchard, she observed, had a weather-red face and high cheek-bones. Hewas smooth-shaved. He wore no hat. But for his miraculously short-cuthair, his field-glasses, his suit of coarse Scotch wool, whose colorsblended so well with the meadow upon which he crouched, he might havebeen an Indian. His head, the field-glasses, the hands which claspedthem, moved--nothing else.
"Is it a bluff?" thought Gay. "Is he just posing, or is there somethingin it?"
Half an hour passed--three quarters. Gay was pale and grimly smiling.Her legs had gone to sleep. But she would not give in. If an Englishmancould fish so patiently, why, so could she. She was fighting her ownprivate battle of Bunker Hill--of New Orleans.
Pritchard lowered his glasses, handed them to Gay, and pointed up thebrook and across, to where a triangular point of granite peered a fewinches above the surface. Gay looked through the glasses, and Pritchardbegan to whisper in her ear:
"Northwest of that point of rock, about two feet--keep looking justthere, and I'll try to tell you what to see."
"There's a fish feeding," she answered; "but he must be a baby, he justmakes a bubble on the surface."
"There are three types of insect floating over him," said Pritchard; "Idon't know your American beasts by name, but there is a black, a brown,and a grayish spiderlike thing. He's taking the last. If you see one ofthe gray ones floating where he made his last bubble, watch it."
Gay presently discerned such an insect so floating, and watched it. Itpassed within a few inches of where the feeding trout had last risen anddisappeared, and a tiny ring gently marked the spot where it had beensucked under. Gay saw a black insect pass over the fatal spot unscathed,then browns; and then, once more, a gray, very tiny in the body but withlongish legs, approached and was engulfed.
"Now for the tackle box," Pritchard whispered.
They withdrew from the margin of the brook, Gay in that curious ecstasy,half joy, half sorrow, induced by sleepy legs. She lurched and almostfell. Pritchard caught her.
"Was the vigil too long?" he asked.
"I liked it," she said. "But my legs went to sleep and are just wakingup. Tell me things. There were fish rising bold--jumping cleanout--making the water boil. But you weren't interested in them."
"It was noticeable," said Pritchard, "and perhaps you noticed that onefish was feeding alone. He blew his little rings--without fear orhurry--none of the other fishes dared come anywhere near him. He livesin the vicinity of that pointed rock. The water there is probably deepand, in the depths, very cold. Who knows but a spring bubbles into abrook at the base of that rock? The fish lives there and rules the wateraround him for five or six yards. He is selfish, fat, and old. He feedsquietly because nobody dares dispute his food with him. He is thebiggest fish in this reach of the brook. At least, he is the biggestthat is feeding this morning. Now we know what kind of a fly he istaking. Probably I have a close imitation of it in my fly box. If not,we shall have to make one. Then we must try to throw it just abovehim--very lightly--float it into his range of vision, and when he sucksit into his mouth, strike--and if we are lucky we shall then proceed totake him."
Gay, passionately fond of woodcraft, listened with a kind of awe.
"But," she said, seeing an objection, "how do you know he weighs threepounds and over?"
"Frankly," said Pritchard, "I don't. I am gambling on _that_." He shother a shy look. "Just hoping. I know that he is big. I believe we shallland him. I hope and pray that he weighs over three pounds."
Gay blushed and said nothing. She was beginning to think that Pritchardmight land a three-pounder as well as not--and she had light-heartedlyagreed, in that event, to become the Countess of Merrivale. Of course,the bet was mere nonsense. But suppose, by any fleeting chance, thatPritchard should not so regard it? What _should_ she do? Suppose thatPritchard had fallen victim to a case of love at first sight? It wouldnot, she was forced to admit (somewhat demurely), be the first instancein her own actual experience. There was a young man who had so fallen inlove with her, and who, a week later, not knowing the difference--soexactly the triplets resembled each other--had proposed to Phyllis.
They drew the guide boat up onto the meadows and Pritchard, armed with ascoop-net of mesh as fine as mosquito-netting, leaned over the brook andcaught one of the grayish flies that were tickling the appetite of thebig trout.
This fly had a body no bigger than a gnat's.
Pritchard handed Gay a box of japanned tin. It was divided intocompartments, and each compartment was half full of infinitesimal troutflies. They were so small that you had to use a pair of tweezers inhandling them.
Pritchard spread his handkerchief on the grass, and Gay dumped the fliesout on it and spread them for examination. And then, their heads veryclose together, they began to hunt for one which would match the liveone that Pritchard had caught.
"But they're too small," Gay objected. "The hooks would pull rightthrough a trout's lip."
"Not always," said Pritchard. "How about this one?"
"Too dark," said Gay.
"Here we are then--a match or not?"
The natural fly and the artificial placed side by side were wonderfullyalike.
"They're as like as Lee and me," said Gay.
"Lee?"
"Three of us are triplets," she explained. "We look exactly alike--andwe never forgive people who get us mixed up."
Pritchard abandoned all present thoughts of trout-fishing by scientificmethods. He looked into her face with wonder.
"Do you mean to tell me," said he, "that there are two otherD-D-Darlings exactly like you?"
"Exactly--a nose for a nose; an eye for an eye."
"It isn't true," he proclaimed. "There is nobody in the whole world inthe least like you."
"Some time," said Gay, "you will see the three of us in a row. We shalllook inscrutable and say nothing. You will not be able to tell which ofus went fishing with you and which stayed at home----"
"'This little pig went to market,'" he began, and abruptly becameserious. "Is that a challenge?"
"Yes," said Gay. "I fling down my gauntlet."
"And I," said Pritchard, "step forward and, in the face of all theworld, lift it from the ground--and proclaim for all the world to hearthat there is nobody like my lady--and that I am so prepared to prove atany place or time--come weal, come woe. Let the heavens fall!"
"If you know me from the others," Gay's eyes gleamed, "you will be thefirst strange young man that ever did, and I shall assign and appoint inthe inmost shrines of memory a most special niche for you."
Pritchard bowed very humbly.
"That will not be necessary," he said. "If I land the three-pounder. Inthat case, I should be always with you."
"I wish," said Gay, "that you wouldn't refer so earnestly to a piece ofnonsense. Upon repetition, a joke ceases to be a joke."
Pritchard looked troubled.
"I'm sorry," he said simply. "If it is the custom of the country to betand then crawl, so be it. In Rome, I hasten to do as the Romans do. ButI thought our bet was honorable and above-board. It seems it was justan--an Indian bet."
Gay flushed angrily.
"You shall not belittle anything American
," she said. "It was a bet. Imeant it. I stand by it. If you catch your big fish I marry you. And ifI have to marry you, I will lead you such a dance----"
"You wouldn't have to," Pritchard put in gently, "you wouldn't have tolead me, I mean. If you and I were married, I'd just naturallydance--wouldn't I? When a man sorrows he weeps; when he rejoices hedances. It's all very simple and natural----"
He turned his face to the serene heavens, and, very gravely:
"Ah, Lord!" he said. "Vouchsafe to me, undeserving but hopeful, thisday, a char--_salmo fontinalis_--to weigh a trifle over three pounds,for the sake of all that is best and sweetest in this best of allpossible worlds."
If his face or voice had had a suspicion of irreverence, Gay would havelaughed. Instead, she found that she wanted to cry and that her heartwas beating unquietly.
Mr. Pritchard dismissed sentiment from his mind, and with loving handsbegan to take a powerful split-bamboo rod from its case.
The Seven Darlings Page 8