He had got the hook quite down into his throat, which probably was the secret of my success; for had it been in his mouth, he and I must have pulled his jaw off between us. I did not stop even to make an attempt to take it out, but gathering up the fragments of my rod, while he lay panting and flapping on the grass, I lifted him up by the hook and carried him up triumphantly toward the town. I would not go in through the ordinary gates, however. I believe it was that a fear seized me lest I should be charged a duty on my fish; but as the house where I lived was close to the walls, and had a little garden in one of the old towers, through which there was a door and a stone stair-case, I hurried thither, found my way in by the back-door, and venturing to do what I had never done before, hurried, uncalled, into the room of good Father Bonneville at an hour when I knew he was always at study. Happily it was Thursday: I knew there was no fish in the house, and that our dinner, on the following day, was destined to be pumpkin-soup and a salad. This might well excuse my presumption, and it did. Never in my life did I see a man more delighted than good Father Bonneville, though he hurried away a book which he had been reading when I came in—I believe it was the Old Testament—as if there had been something very shameful in it. He admired the trout immensely, looked at it on one side and then on the other, declared it the finest trout he had ever seen, and patting me on the head, asked me if I had really caught that all by myself. I assured him that I had had no help whatever, and then added, slyly, “You know it is Friday to-morrow, Father.” “Ah, my son, my son,” he replied, with a rueful shake of the head but a smile upon his lips, “we must not think too much of improving our fare, especially on meagre days; but the fish is a very fine fish notwithstanding, and we will have it for dinner to-morrow.” I have dwelt long upon this little incident; for it was a very important one in my eyes at the time, and was not altogether without its influence upon my life. But I shall only pause to state here that Father Bonneville made more of me from that time forth than he had ever done before. Previously he had contented himself by giving me my lessons daily, by speaking a few kindly words to me at meal times, and turning me over for the rest of the day to his good old housekeeper. Now, however, I seemed to be fit for something better. Father Bonneville was very fond of fish, as most priests are, and every Tuesday and Thursday evening I was down at the banks of the lake or of the river; and as I had great perseverance, and rapidly became skillful, Father Bonneville very rarely went without fish of some kind for his dinner on Wednesdays and Fridays, so that fasting became somewhat of a farce—except in Lent indeed—except in Lent, when he made tremendous work with us. A PRIEST’S HOUSEHOLD.