A Danish Parsonage

by John Fulford Vicary

"Up by the tile works," said the boys both at once, "and above that it is not deep."

Hardy walked up the towing-path, keeping his eye on the river, but not a trout moved. He saw the abundance of bleak and smaller fish, and it occurred to him that it was easy to account for the non-success of the fly-fishers in the Gudenaa. The fish would not be often feeding, as trout food existed in such quantity; and besides, to a voracious trout a plump little fish was more acceptable than an ephemera. If there were any fish feeding they would be in the shallows.

Hardy tried small trout flies, but without success; not a fish moved, and the boys' faces had a disappointed look. He changed his casting line for the one with the Irish lake trout flies, and was soon fast in a trout. This Karl, in his excitement to get into the landing-net, nearly lost, but Hardy let the fish have line, and then drew it again within reach of the landing-net. This fish was full of food, and corroborated the Pastor's statement. The trout resembles the Hampshire trout, but the colours were more brightly painted. Hardy fished steadily for two hours, with the result of landing eight trout averaging a pound each, to the boys' intense delight. Kirstin and their father had both doubted Hardy, but there were the fish and could be cooked for breakfast. The boys never doubted Hardy after.

"Axel, little man," said John Hardy, "run to the kitchen with the fish, and tell Kirstin that the Englishman wants to know if the frying-pan is ready."

Axel was off like a hare.

When Karl and Hardy reached the parsonage, the Pastor was at the door. "I see no fish," said he, "and I am glad I did not lead you to expect any success in that direction."

"We have not been very successful," said Hardy, quietly taking down his rod. "A knowledge of the habits of the fish in different rivers, and a knowledge of the rivers is necessary, and this an intimate acquaintance only gives."

"Yes, but, father," put in Kari, "Herr Hardy has caught a lot; he would not let us keep the small ones, but kept eight of the biggest. Axel has ran on with them. Kirstin told me the frying-pan would be ready, but not the gentleman's fish."

When John Hardy was called to breakfast—a Danish breakfast corresponds much to an early English lunch—he found Karl and Axel's tongues wagging like a dog's tail at dinner-time, they were so full of the fishing. They had caught a few roach in the river, and about once in a moon a trout, and John Hardy's completer knowledge had impressed them. Hardy bowed to Frøken Helga, and would have shaken hands, but she pointed to a seat, and Hardy sat down. The Pastor said grace, and attacked the trout with much appreciation of their merits.

"We tried to cast a line out, father, with Herr Hardy's rod," said Axel, "but could not, the line fell all of a heap, while Herr Hardy threw it a long way; it hovered over the water for a second, and fell slowly on the water. The flies appeared like live insects."