The
chase was a long one, and when my aunt at last ran the bird to a
standstill she was nearer home than she was to the shooting party; she
had left that some five miles behind her."
"Rather a long run for a wounded pheasant," snapped Amblecope.
"The story rests on my aunt's authority," said Treddleford coldly, "and
she is local vice-president of the Young Women's Christian Association.
She trotted three miles or so to her home, and it was not till the middle
of the afternoon that it was discovered that the lunch for the entire
shooting party was in a pannier attached to the pony's saddle. Anyway,
she got her bird."
"Some birds, of course, take a lot of killing," said Amblecope; "so do
some fish. I remember once I was fishing in the Exe, lovely trout
stream, lots of fish, though they don't run to any great size--"
"One of them did," announced Treddleford, with emphasis. "My uncle, the
Bishop of Southmolton, came across a giant trout in a pool just off the
main stream of the Exe near Ugworthy; he tried it with every kind of fly
and worm every day for three weeks without an atom of success, and then
Fate intervened on his behalf. There was a low stone bridge just over
this pool, and on the last day of his fishing holiday a motor van ran
violently into the parapet and turned completely over; no one was hurt,
but part of the parapet was knocked away, and the entire load that the
van was carrying was pitched over and fell a little way into the pool.
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