And whether she won free, I know not. But it
is said there was salmon steak for breakfast next morning in that
maiden's home.
Surely the devil played but an amateur part when he essayed to break
down the stern virtue of St. Anthony with temptations no stronger than
those over which the good Saint so easily triumphed. Had he clapped the
holy man down by the banks of a Border stream when fish were running in
the autumn, there might have been another tale to tell--that is, if a
close season had existed in mediaeval times. I trow we should have seen
St. Anthony nipping hot-foot over the hill, with the bosom of his monk's
gown protruding in a way at which no honest water-bailiff could possibly
have winked. Things as strange have happened in our own day; but maybe
they were due to that drop of reiver blood which courses more or less
swiftly through the veins of most Border folk, and which, now that there
are no cattle to "lift" from the English side, impels them for want of
better to lift from the water a salmon whenever opportunity may offer.
There was lately, it is said, a lady of ancient Border lineage, who sat
one day with a grown-up daughter in the library of her ancestral home.
It was the hunting season, and at intervals the two glanced anxiously
from the windows in full expectation of seeing the hounds sweep in full
cry over the fields of which the library commanded a view.
Pages:
325
326
327
328
329
330
331
332
333
334
335
336
337
338
339
340
341
342
343
344
345
346
347
348
349