’In my country,’ the American said, in his slow way, ’we don’t mind luck much; we find perseverance about as good a horse to win with in the end.’ He was soon to have his perseverance tried. Everything being ready they pushed off from the shore, Ronald taking stroke oar, the gillie at the bow; Mr. Hodson left to pay out the lines of the two rods, and fix these in the stern, when about five-and-thirty yards had gone forth. At first, it is true, he waited and watched with a trifle of anxiety. He wanted to catch a salmon; it would be something to write about to his daughter; it would be a new experience for himself. But when time passed and the boat was slowly rowed along the loch at a measured distance from the shore, without any touch of anything coming to make the point of either rod tremble, he rather gave up his hope in that direction, and took to talking with Ronald. After all, it was not salmon-fishing alone that had brought him into these wilds. ’I suppose it is really too early in the season,’ he observed, without much chagrin. ’Rayther,’ said Ronald. ’Rawther,’ said the melancholy gillie. But at that instant something happened that startled every one of them out of their apathy. The top of one of the rods was violently pulled at, and then there was a long shrill yell of the reel. ’There he is, sir! there he is, sir!’ Ronald called. Mr. Hodson made a grab blindly—for he had been looking at the scenery around—at one of the rods. It was the wrong one. But before he knew where he was, Ronald had got hold of the other and raised the top so as to keep a strain on the fish. The exchange of the rods was effected in a moment. Then when Ronald had wound in the other line and put the rod at the bow, he took to his oar again, leaving Mr. Hodson to fight his unknown enemy as best he might, but giving him a few words of direction from time to time, quietly, as if it were all a matter of course. ’Reel in, sir, reel in—keep an even strain on him—let him go—let him go if he wants——’ Well, the fish was not a fierce fighter; after the first long rush he scarcely did anything; he kept boring downwards, with a dull, heavy weight. It seemed easy work; and Mr. Hodson—triumphant in the hope of catching his first salmon—was tempted to call aloud to the melancholy gillie— ’Well, Duncan, how about luck now?’ ’I think it’s a kelt,’ the man answered morosely. But the sinister meaning of this reply was not understood. ’I don’t know what you call him,’ said Mr. Hodson, holding on with both hands to the long, lithe grilse-rod that was bent almost double. ’Celt or Saxon, I don’t know; but I seem to have got a good grip of him.’ ’Then he heard Ronald say, in an undertone, to the gillie— ’A kelt? No fears. The first rush was too heavy for that.’ And the gillie responded sullenly— ’He’s following the boat like a cow.’ ’What is a kelt, anyway?’ the American called out. ’Something that swims, I suppose? It ain’t a man?’