Discipula. And when, my good Mr. Piscator, will you give me another lesson in the art of angling? For you must know the last has only increased my desire to learn something more of it. Or do you think that we women can never attain skill in that noble and gentle art?
Piscator. That it is a noble and a gentle art I am ready to maintain; and that women have attained skill in it is not to be doubted; as you will read in books of old time, that ladies both hunted, and hawked, and fished.
Discipula. But the lesson, my honest master? When shall I have another lesson?
Piscator. You shall even suit your own convenience. And some fine morning, when you are so disposed, we will take a walk down the river; when I will teach you to cast your line for trout; for indeed, it requires a sharp wit and much practice to throw your fly so that the trout will rise at it.
Discipula. Not in the river, if it please you, good Mr. Piscator, not in the river! Teach me to fish in the lake.
Piscator. Without doubt, my fair young lady, it must be as you desire. And yet, it is not every woman that would have the courage to cross the pond in a skiff that rocks to every ripple.
Discipula. Trust me for that. You should know that I am not wont to be frightened at trifles.
Piscator. Truly, it is so; and I do not question your courage. Then on any day that you will appoint, God willing, I will give you a sail; or indeed, this morning, if duty does not incline you in another direction, and you will step with me into my little boat yonder.
Discipula. That shall I with right good will. But I shall have to make you wait while I get my fishing tackle.
Piscator. Of necessity you shall not do that; for I remember now, I can fit you with a spare harness of my own.