three men in a boat-第37节

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the　dull　monotony　of　it　all　had　stood　before　her　eyes　plainer　than　usual；　

and　the　mocking　spectre　had　frightened　her。　　She　had　made　one　last　appeal　

to　friends；　but；　against　the　chill　wall　of　their　respectability；　the　

voice　of　the　erring　outcast　fell　unheeded；　and　then　she　had　gone　to　see　

her　child　…　had　held　it　in　her　arms　and　kissed　it；　in　a　weary；　dull　sort　

of　way；　and　without　betraying　any　particular　emotion　of　any　kind；　and　had　

left　it；　after　putting　into　its　hand　a　penny　box　of　chocolate　she　had　

bought　it；　and　afterwards；　with　her　last　few　shillings；　had　taken　a　

ticket　and　come　down　to　Goring。



It　seemed　that　the　bitterest　thoughts　of　her　life　must　have　centred　about　

the　wooded　reaches　and　the　bright　green　meadows　around　Goring；　but　women　

strangely　hug　the　knife　that　stabs　them；　and；　perhaps；　amidst　the　gall；　

there　may　have　mingled　also　sunny　memories　of　sweetest　hours；　spent　upon　

those　shadowed　deeps　over　which　the　great　trees　bend　their　branches　down　

so　low。



She　had　wandered　about　the　woods　by　the　river's　brink　all　day；　and　then；　

when　evening　fell　and　the　grey　twilight　spread　its　dusky　robe　upon　the　

waters；　she　stretched　her　arms　out　to　the　silent　river　that　had　known　her　

sorrow　and　her　joy。　　And　the　old　river　had　taken　her　into　its　gentle　

arms；　and　had　laid　her　weary　head　upon　its　bosom；　and　had　hushed　away　the　

pain。



Thus　had　she　sinned　in　all　things　…　sinned　in　living　and　in　dying。　　God　

help　her！　and　all　other　sinners；　if　any　more　there　be。



Goring　on　the　left　bank　and　Streatley　on　the　right　are　both　or　either　

charming　places　to　stay　at　for　a　few　days。　　The　reaches　down　to　

Pangbourne　woo　one　for　a　sunny　sail　or　for　a　moonlight　row；　and　the　

country　round　about　is　full　of　beauty。　　We　had　intended　to　push　on　to　

Wallingford　that　day；　but　the　sweet　smiling　face　of　the　river　here　lured　

us　to　linger　for　a　while；　and　so　we　left　our　boat　at　the　bridge；　and　went　

up　into　Streatley；　and　lunched　at　the　〃Bull；〃　much　to　Montmorency's　

satisfaction。



They　say　that　the　hills　on　each　ride　of　the　stream　here　once　joined　and　

formed　a　barrier　across　what　is　now　the　Thames；　and　that　then　the　river　

ended　there　above　Goring　in　one　vast　lake。　　I　am　not　in　a　position　either　

to　contradict　or　affirm　this　statement。　　I　simply　offer　it。



It　is　an　ancient　place；　Streatley；　dating　back；　like　most　river…side　

towns　and　villages；　to　British　and　Saxon　times。　　Goring　is　not　nearly　so　

pretty　a　little　spot　to　stop　at　as　Streatley；　if　you　have　your　choice；　

but　it　is　passing　fair　enough　in　its　way；　and　is　nearer　the　railway　in　

case　you　want　to　slip　off　without　paying　your　hotel　bill。









CHAPTER　XVII。





WASHING　DAY。　…　FISH　AND　FISHERS。　…　ON　THE　ART　OF　ANGLING。　…　A　

CONSCIENTIOUS　FLY…FISHER。　…　A　FISHY　STORY。



WE　stayed　two　days　at　Streatley；　and　got　our　clothes　washed。　　We　had　

tried　washing　them　ourselves；　in　the　river；　under　George's　

superintendence；　and　it　had　been　a　failure。　　Indeed；　it　had　been　more　

than　a　failure；　because　we　were　worse　off　after　we　had　washed　our　clothes　

than　we　were　before。　　Before　we　had　washed　them；　they　had　been　very；　very　

dirty；　it　is　true；　but　they　were　just　wearable。　　AFTER　we　had　washed　them　

…　well；　the　river　between　Reading　and　Henley　was　much　cleaner；　after　we　

had　washed　our　clothes　in　it；　than　it　was　before。　　All　the　dirt　contained　

in　the　river　between　Reading　and　Henley；　we　collected；　during　that　wash；　

and　worked　it　into　our　clothes。



The　washerwoman　at　Streatley　said　she　felt　she　owed　it　to　herself　to　

charge　us　just　three　times　the　usual　prices　for　that　wash。　　She　said　it　

had　not　been　like　washing；　it　had　been　more　in　the　nature　of　excavating。



We　paid　the　bill　without　a　murmur。



The　neighbourhood　of　Streatley　and　Goring　is　a　great　fishing　centre。　　

There　is　some　excellent　fishing　to　be　had　here。　　The　river　abounds　in　

pike；　roach；　dace；　gudgeon；　and　eels；　just　here；　and　you　can　sit　and　fish　

for　them　all　day。



Some　people　do。　　They　never　catch　them。　　I　never　knew　anybody　catch　

anything；　up　the　Thames；　except　minnows　and　dead　cats；　but　that　has　

nothing　to　do；　of　course；　with　fishing！　　The　local　fisherman's　guide　

doesn't　say　a　word　about　catching　anything。　　All　it　says　is　the　place　is　

〃a　good　station　for　fishing；〃　and；　from　what　I　have　seen　of　the　district；　

I　am　quite　prepared　to　bear　out　this　statement。



There　is　no　spot　in　the　world　where　you　can　get　more　fishing；　or　where　

you　can　fish　for　a　longer　period。　　Some　fishermen　come　here　and　fish　for　

a　day；　and　others　stop　and　fish　for　a　month。　　You　can　hang　on　and　fish　

for　a　year；　if　you　want　to：　it　will　be　all　the　same。



The　ANGLER'S　GUIDE　TO　THE　THAMES　says　that　〃jack　and　perch　are　also　to　be　

had　about　here；〃　but　there　the　ANGLER'S　GUIDE　is　wrong。　　Jack　and　perch　

may　BE　about　there。　　Indeed；　I　know　for　a　fact　that　they　are。　　You　can　

SEE　them　there　in　shoals；　when　you　are　out　for　a　walk　along　the　banks：　

they　come　and　stand　half　out　of　the　water　with　their　mouths　open　for　

biscuits。　　And；　if　you　go　for　a　bathe；　they　crowd　round；　and　get　in　your　

way；　and　irritate　you。　　But　they　are　not　to　be　〃had〃　by　a　bit　of　worm　on　

the　end　of　a　hook；　nor　anything　like　it　…　not　they！



I　am　not　a　good　fisherman　myself。　　I　devoted　a　considerable　amount　of　

attention　to　the　subject　at　one　time；　and　was　getting　on；　as　I　thought；　

fairly　well；　but　the　old　hands　told　me　that　I　should　never　be　any　real　

good　at　it；　and　advised　me　to　give　it　up。　　They　said　that　I　was　an　

extremely　neat　thrower；　and　that　I　seemed　to　have　plenty　of　gumption　for　

the　thing；　and　quite　enough　constitutional　laziness。　　But　they　were　sure　

I　should　never　make　anything　of　a　fisherman。　　I　had　not　got　sufficient　

imagination。



They　said　that　as　a　poet；　or　a　shilling　shocker；　or　a　reporter；　or　

anything　of　that　kind；　I　might　be　satisfactory；　but　that；　to　gain　any　

position　as　a　Thames　angler；　would　require　more　play　of　fancy；　more　power　

of　invention　than　I　appeared　to　possess。



Some　people　are　under　the　impression　that　all　that　is　required　to　make　a　

good　fisherman　is　the　ability　to　tell　lies　easily　and　without　blushing；　

but　this　is　a　mistake。　　Mere　bald　fabrication　is　useless；　the　veriest　

tyro　can　manage　that。　　It　is　in　the　circumstantial　detail；　the　

embellishing　touches　of　probability；　the　general　air　of　scrupulous　…　

almost　of　pedantic　…　veracity；　that　the　experienced　angler　is　seen。



Anybody　can　come　in　and　say；　〃Oh；　I　caught　fifteen　dozen　perch　yesterday　

evening；〃　or　〃Last　Monday　I　landed　a　gudgeon；　weighing　eighteen　pounds；　

and　measuring　three　feet　from　the　tip　to　the　tail。〃



There　is　no　art；　no　skill；　required　for　that　sort　of　thing。　　It　shows　

pluck；　but　that　is　all。



No；　your　accomplished　angler　would　scorn　to　tell　a　lie；　that　way。　　His　

method　is　a　study　in　itself。



He　comes　in　quietly　with　his　hat　on；　appropriates　the　most　comfortable　

chair；　lights　his　pipe；　and　commences　to　puff　in　silence。　　He　lets　the　

youngsters　brag　away　for　a　while；　and　then；　during　a　momentary　lull；　he　

removes　the　pipe　from　his　mouth；　and　remarks；　as　he　knocks　the　ashes　out　

against　the　bars：



〃Well；　I　had　a　haul　on　Tuesday　evening　that　it's　not　much　good　my　telling　

anybody　about。〃



〃Oh！　why's　that？〃　they　ask。



〃Because　I　don't　expect　anybody　would　believe　me　if　I　did；〃　replies　the　

old　fellow　calmly；　and　without　even　a　tinge　of　bitterness　in　his　tone；　as　

he　refills　his　pipe；　and　requests　the　landlord　to　bring　him　three　of　

Scotch；　cold。



There　is　a　pause　after　this；　nobody　feeling　sufficiently　sure　of　himself　

to　contradict　the　old　gentleman。　　So　he　has　to　go　on　by　himself　without　

any　encouragement。



〃No；〃　he　continues　thoughtfully；　〃I　shouldn't　believe　it　myself　if　

anybody　told　it　to　me；　but　it's　a　fact；　for　all　that。　　I　had　been　sitting　

there　all　the　afternoon　and　had　caught　literally　nothing　…　except　a　few　

dozen　dace　and　a　score　of　jack；　and　I　was　just　about　giving　it　up　as　a　

bad　job　when　I　suddenly　felt　a　rather　smart　pull　at　the　line。　　I　thought　

it　was　another　little　one；　and　I　went　to　jerk　it　up。　　Hang　me；　if　I　could　

move　the　rod！　　It　took　me　half…an…hour　…　half…an…hour；　sir！　…　to　land　

that　fish；　and　every　moment　I　thought　the　line　was　going　to　snap！　　I　

reached　him　at　last；　and　what　do　you　think　it　was？　　A　sturgeon！　a　forty　

pound　sturgeon！　taken　on　a　line；　sir！　　Yes；　you　may　well　look　surprised　…　

I'll　have　another　three　of　Scotch；　landlord；　please。〃



And　then　he　goes　on　to　tell　of　the　astonishment　of　everybody　who　saw　it；　

and　what　his　wife　said；　when　he　got　home；　and　of　what　Joe　Buggles　thought　

about　it。



I　asked　the　landlord　of　an　inn　up　the　river　once；　if　it　did　not　injure　

him；　sometimes；　listening　to　the　tales　that　the　fishermen　about　there　

told　him；　and　he　said：



〃Oh；　no；　not　now；　sir。　　It　did　used　to　knock　me　over　a　bit　at　first；　but；　

lor　love　you！　me　and　th