It was very calm and beautiful in the bend of the river that they had chosen. There was a faint breeze, apparently caused by the rush of the stream, whose rippling amongst the stones with which the shore beneath the cliff-like bank was strewed made pleasant music; and as soon as the whole of the line was paid out the two young men sat silent and watchful, waiting for the tug which should tell that there was a fish at work. But a good ten minutes elapsed, and there was no sign. "Humph!" grunted Dickenson, after his patience was exhausted. "No mistake about there being fish here." "How do you know?" "One of them has taken my bait." It was on Drew's lips to say, "Washed off by the stream;" but he remained silent as he softly pulled in his own line, to find nothing but the bare hook. "There! do you see?" he said softly, the sound of his voice passing over the water so that it was like a whisper at his friend's ear, as he dangled the bare hook. "Oh yes, I see: fish nibbled it off." "Hope you are right," said Drew softly, as he rebaited, dropped in the white marble of paste, and watched it glide down the stream, drawing out one by one the rings of line which he had carefully coiled up on the rock when he drew it out. Then stooping and picking a long, heavy, stream-washed, slaty fragment from out of the water by his side, he made the end of his line fast to it and laid it at his feet, so as to have his hands at liberty. With these he drew out a cigarette-case and opened it, but his brow puckered up as he looked disconsolately at its contents. "The last two," he said softly. "Better keep 'em. Be more hungry perhaps by-and-by." Closing the case, he replaced it in his breast-pocket. "The hardest job I know of," he muttered, "practising self-denial." Then aloud, "Well, Bob, do they bite?" "No: only suck. Lost two more baits; but I shall have a big one directly." "Glad of it. How will you cook it--roast or boil?" "Don't chaff. Mind your own line." Drew Lennox smiled, glanced down at his line, which the stream had now drawn out tight, and, satisfied that the stone to which it was tied would give him fair warning if he were fortunate enough to get a bite, he stepped back, picked up his rifle, and taking out his handkerchief, began to give it a rub here and a rub there, to add polish to the well-cleaned barrel, trigger-guard, and lock. He took some time over this, but at last all was to his satisfaction; and laying down the piece on the rock by his side, he once more drew up his line, glancing up-stream, to see that his companion was similarly occupied, both finding the bait gone. "I say, isn't it aggravating?" said Dickenson. "I know what they are-- sort of mullet-like fish with small mouths. Put on a smaller bait." "All right; good plan," said Lennox. "Wish to goodness I'd a few well-scoured English worms. I'd soon let the fish know!"