It might be imagined that a pike large enough to swallow a water-vole would not be likely to venture into a brook, and would restrict itself to the river where it would have plenty of room. But experience has shown that a very large pike will sometimes make its way into a very small brook, partly for the sake of food, but sometimes through sheer cunning, in the hope of evading its enemies. By the time that a pike has attained the weight of twelve or fifteen pounds, he has had to face many and varied dangers, and escape from many foes. While he is young and small his worst foes are those of his own species. Anglers know that there is scarcely any bait so attractive to an old pike as a small pike. All the earlier part of his life is spent in perpetual watchfulness, he having to be always on the look-out for prey by which he can still his insatiable hunger; while he has to be equally on guard lest a larger pike should satisfy its hunger with him. No pike, therefore, can attain to a large size without developing a considerable amount of cunning, and anyone who sets himself the task of catching such a fish will find that he must employ all his resources of intellect, aided by experience, before he can delude the fish even into touching the bait. In spite of its large size, the fish manages to elude observation in a most puzzling manner, and it is no easy matter to make sure of its position. An old fox or old rat is scarcely more cunning and full of devices than an old pike. The largest pike that I ever saw at liberty was in a small tributary streamlet of the Cherwell river, near Oxford. A pike of enormous dimensions had for some time been reported as having been seen in various parts of the Cherwell, the general rumours giving its weight as at least thirty pounds. All the anglers of the neighbourhood had tried to capture this mighty prize, but had failed. Contrary to the habit of most large pike, it did not seem to have established itself in any particular spot, but roamed about from place to place. Now, the Cherwell itself is but a very small river, so that the locality of a large fish might appear easily discoverable. But it is a very “weedy” river, and its banks are edged with willows, whose long, red, plume-shaped roots hang into the water from the banks, and form admirable hiding-places for the fish. One day I was trying my fortune at trolling in the Cherwell, with a six-inch gudgeon for bait, and, on coming to a tributary stream, walked along the bank until I could find a spot narrow enough to be jumped. Coming to a deep-looking pool, I dropped in the bait, by way of not wasting time, and almost immediately felt the bait taken by a pike. Following the golden rule then, and perhaps now, in force among anglers, I sat down on the bank, watch in hand, in order to wait through the weary ten minutes prescribed by custom, and which almost seem to drag themselves out into as many centuries.