'Bring the fish out of the boat, please.'
He went down to the coble, and got the salmon out of the well; and then, before bringing it and placing it on the grass before the young lady, he held it up in triumph for the gillies to see: the sarcasm was all the other way now.
'You see, pappa dear, you would have bet your boots against it, wouldn't you?' she remarked.
'But where did you get it?' he said, in amazement. 'I was watching your boat all the time. I did not see you playing a fish.'
'Because we got ashore as fast as we could, and had the fight out there. But please, pappa, don't ask me anything more than that. I don't know what happened. The wind was choking me, and I was half-blind, and the stones were slippery and moving, and—and everything was in a kind of uproar. Perhaps you don't think I did catch the salmon. If my arms could speak, they could tell you a different tale just at this minute; and I shall have a back to-morrow morning, I know that. Seventeen pounds, Ronald says; and as prettily shaped a fish as he has ever seen taken out of the lake.'
'He is a handsome fish,' her father admitted; and then he looked up impatiently at the wind-driven sky. 'There is no doubt there are plenty of fish in the lake, if the weather would only give us a chance. But it's either a dead calm or else a raging gale. Why, just look at that!'
For at this moment a heavier gust than ever struck down on the water—and widened rapidly out—and tore the tops of the waves into spray—until a whirling gray cloud seemed to be flying over to the other shores. The noise and tumult of the squall were indescribable; and then, in five or six minutes or so, the loch began to reappear again, black and sullen, from under that mist of foam; and the wind subsided—only to keep moaning and howling as if meditating further springs. There was not much use in hurrying lunch. The gillies had comfortably lit their pipes. Two of the younger lads were trying their strength and skill at 'putting the stone;' the others merely lay and looked on; an occasional glance at the loch told them they need not stir.
It was not jealousy of his daughter having caught a fish that made Mr. Hodson impatient; it was the waste of time. He could not find refuge in correspondence; he had no book with him; while gazing at scenery is a feeble substitute for salmon-fishing, if the latter be your aim. And then again the loch was very tantalising—awaking delusive hopes every few minutes. Sometimes it would become almost quiet—save for certain little black puffs of wind that fell vertically and widened and widened out; and they would be on the point of summoning the men to the cobles when, with a low growl and then a louder roar, the gale would be rushing down again, and the storm witches' white hair streaming across the suddenly darkened waters.
'"Ben Clebrig—the Hill of the Playing Trout,"' said he peevishly. 'I don't believe a word of it. Why, the Celtic races were famous for giving characteristic names to places—describing the things accurately. "The Hill of the Playing Trout!" Now, if they had called it "The Hill of the Infernal Whirlwinds," or "The Hill of Blasts and Hurricanes," or something of that kind, it would have been nearer the mark. And this very day last year, according to the list that Ronald has, they got nine salmon.'
'Perhaps we may get the other eight yet, pappa,' said she lightly.