ight, my boys,
And jump out anywhere.
For it's my delight of a likely night,
In the season of the year.

The chorus was taken up by the other boys with shouts of laughter, and
the keeper turned away with a grunt, but evidently bent on mischief. The
boys thought no more of the matter.

But now came on the may-fly season; the soft hazy summer weather lay
sleepily along the rich meadows by Avon side, and the green and grey
flies flickered with their graceful lazy up and down flight over the
reeds and the water and the meadows, in myriads upon myriads. The
may-flies must surely be the lotus-eaters of the ephemerae; the
happiest, laziest, carelessest fly that dances and dreams out his few
hours of sunshiny life by English rivers.

Every little pitiful coarse fish in the Avon was on the alert for the
flies, and gorging his wretched carcase with hundreds daily, the
gluttonous rogues! and every lover of the gentle craft was out to avenge
the poor may-flies.

So one fine Thursday afternoon, Tom having borrowed East's new rod,
started by himself to the river. He fished for some time with small
success, not a fish would rise at him; but, as he prowled along the
bank, he was presently aware of mighty ones feeding in a pool on the
opposite side, under the shade of a huge willow-tree. The stream was
deep here, but some fifty yards below was a shallow, for which he made
off hot-foot; and forgetting landlords, keepers, solemn prohibitions of
the Doctor, and everything else, pulled up his trousers, plunged across,
and in three minutes was creeping along on all fours towards the clump
of willows.

[Illustration: TOM DISCOVERED BY VELVETEENS. P. 199.]

It isn't often that great chub, or any other coarse fish are in earnest
about anything, but just then they were thoroughly bent on feeding, and
in half-an-hour Master Tom had deposited three thumping fellows at the
foot of the giant willow. As he was baiting for a fourth pounder, and
just going to throw in again, he became aware of a man coming up the
bank not one hundred yards off. Another look told him that it was the
under-keeper. Could he reach the shallow before him? No, not carrying
his rod. Nothing for it but the tree: so Tom laid his bones to it,
shinning up as fast as he could, and dragging up his rod after him. He
had just time to reach and crouch along upon a huge branch some ten feet
up, which stretched out over the river, when t