A sudden jerk and splash startled me horribly, and warned me that I had disturbed an eel who was in the act of supping off my bait.

In the momentary surprise I suppose I let go, for certain it is that the next instant my flax-stick was rapidly towed down the stream.
Instead of feeling provoked or mortified, it was the greatest relief to know that my eel-fishing was over for the night, and that now I had nothing to do except "wait till called for." So I took Nettle on my lap and tried to abide patiently, but I had not been long enough in New Zealand to have any confidence in the climate, and as I felt how damp my clothes were, and recollected with horror my West Indian experiences of the consequences of exposure to night air and heavy dew, my mind _would_ dwell gloomily on the prospect of a fever, at least.

It seemed a long and weary while before I perceived a figure coming towards me; and I am afraid I was both cross and cold and sleepy by the time we set our faces homewards.

"I have only caught three," said F----.

"How many have you got ?" "None, I am happy to say," I answered peevishly, "What could Nettle and I have done with the horrible things if we had caught any ?" The walk, or rather the stumble home, proved to be the worst part of the expedition.