"Oh, no, you try," she said, eagerly. "Isn't he a beauty!"

But I insisted and she took the rod, a fourteen-foot split bamboo. She
looked behind her, to see that the coast was clear. There were no bushes
for her to hook and no rise of ground to look out for.

"Steady, Miss Jelliffe," I said. "Don't get nervous. If he rises don't
try to strike. They will hook themselves as often as not. Begin by
casting away from that place until you get out enough line, then get your
fly a little beyond that spot and draw in gently."

"I've caught plenty of big trout," she said, excitedly, "but I've never
landed a salmon. I am nearly hoping that he won't take the fly. I won't
know what to do."

"There has to be a first time in everything," I told her. "Just imagine
you're after a big trout."

She appeared to become cooler and more confident, letting out a little
line, retrieving it nicely, and lengthening her cast straight across the
stream. The rod was going back expertly, just slightly over her right
shoulder, and the line whizzed overhead.

"Easy," I advised her; "it is a longer rod than you are used to."

She waited properly until the line had straightened out behind her, and
cast again.

"That is plenty, now for that rock, Miss Jelliffe," I said.