Page:Blackwood's Magazine volume 137.djvu/194

188 instance, closely followed Mr Howard's manner of managing his rod and casting his line, with only the difference of the bait; for while the eldest one replaced the fly by unripe grapes, the younger was of opinion that green peas had a greater chance of success.

There were other systems of fishing, too; some of them independent of the movement started by Mr Howard, some of them even unconnected with Djernis pools and currents.

There was the kingfisher, who, darting out of the blue shadow of a cave, like a winged flash of colour, dived for his evening meal, and came up, dripping and victorious, to carry his wriggling prey into the depth of his rocky haunt, and there sup upon it in peace.

Perhaps his system was the most successful, more successful even than that of the dark-eyed oriental beauty, who rests in the secure consciousness that she has already landed her fish.

The kingfisher's cave is straight above the spot of the river which by courtesy is called "the waterfall" – and by a stretch of imagination may be taken for one. There the fish are leaping in a senseless manner, throwing themselves against the stones and dashing again and again at the narrow passage, in their efforts to reach the pool above. Not more than one in a dozen succeeds in its leap; the rest fall back stunned, to turn their heads perseveringly up-stream again, unless indeed they are caught in the rebound by one of the two Roumanian youths, who have turned their limp felt hats into impromptu landing-nets. Judging from the colour of the hats, ingrained with greenish-brown shades, it is not the first time that they have acted this part. One of these fishermen, with his linen trousers rolled up above his knees, has taken to the water, while the other lies flat on the slippery rock, turning from its destination many a fish, which, with an abrupt transition, finds itself landed in a well-worn felt hat, instead of in the peaceful pool above, and which, with a yet more disagreeable removal, will find itself presently landed in a frying-pan.

Gretchen, who had stopped on the bridge with Belita, began by watching; but, as she watched, she grew infected with the irresistible fishing mania. So presently she had made her way down to the water's edge, and, armed with a green butterfly-net, was rivalling the achievements of the two felt hats.

One of the fishermen was known to her by sight and name. Every now and then young Bujor would appear at the door of the Mohrs' apartment, offering for sale such natural products of the country as unfledged vultures and scorpions preserved in oil, – the latter popularly regarded as a remedy against snake-bites. It was only the other day that he had brought to the door a bear-cub, which he declared to be a great bargain, but the expression of whose countenance was not reassuring, in spite of the assurance that the little monster was multu dulçe (very gentle).

Bujor's face was of the old Roman cast so frequent in Roumania – one of those clean-cut profiles and purely classical heads which are oftener found cut upon a gem, or stamped upon an antique medal, than met with in the labouring peasant.

Surely, thought Gretchen, Bujor's system of fishing was far preferable to that of Mr Howard. A few minutes ago, they had passed the Englishman, rod in hand, stern and rigid by the river-side, followed by his two perpetual shadows, the Recsulescu boys; and, upon the well-meant question as to whether