“Yes,” said Father Brisdone, “before he took up his holy calling.”
“Fisherman still, good brother. Did he not become a fisher of men? Depend upon it, brother, Peter, if he had been down by the lake again, would have enjoyed a good pull at the net.”
“Maybe, maybe,” said the father, smiling.
“Well, let’s grant it. Now, I was a fisherman before I took to the cloth, and I have been a fisherman ever since, right or wrong; and I hold that there is very little wrong in providing a dinner.”
“I’ll not argue with you,” said Father Brisdone. “If all men were like you, Brother Peasegood, this would be a happier world.”
“Wrong again!” cried Master Peasegood. “You see you force on an argument. If all men were like me, brother, it would be an unhappier world; for, look you, I’m too fat. I’m as big as three small men; and, if all were like me, we should be so crowding and elbowing each other that we should be quarrelling for want of room. Ha, ha, ha!” and “ha, ha, ha,” he laughed again, making the rocks and woodlands echo to his jovial mirth; the stray rabbits betrayed their whereabouts by showing their little white tails as they hopped into their holes; and snake and lizard upon sunny bank hurrying away to safety long before the footsteps could be heard.
“There’s something in fishing that seems to expand the heart,” continued Master Peasegood to his willing hearer. “I never knew a man who was a good fisherman who was very wicked or brutal.”
“In other matters,” said Father Brisdone, with a smile.
“Well, well, well, but the fish we catch are vile, cruel things, which persecute their smaller fellows. Why, I’ve known a luce of twenty pounds seize and half swallow one of ten, and kill himself in the act. Oh, no, brother, I have no pity for a great luce or pike; and, besides, see what they are when nicely treated, well cleaned, and stuffed, and buttered, and baked. Ha, ha, ha! we have the advantage of you there, Brother Brisdone; we can be carnal-minded, and eat, and drink, and wive if we like. But come along and let’s begin. I can sniff the water now, with its soft wreaths of mist floating around. We’ll have the boat and set our lures, and fish for a couple of hours, and then take a brace of the finest to Master Cobbe, and beg some more breakfast for our pains.”
“But suppose we catch no fish?”