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It
really
was
a
most
astonishing
trout
.
The
more
we
looked
at
it
,
the
more
we
marvelled
at
it
.
It
excited
George
so
much
that
he
climbed
up
on
the
back
of
a
chair
to
get
a
better
view
of
it
.
And
then
the
chair
slipped
,
and
George
clutched
wildly
at
the
trout-case
to
save
himself
,
and
down
it
came
with
a
crash
,
George
and
the
chair
on
top
of
it
.
"
You
have
n't
injured
the
fish
,
have
you
?
"
I
cried
in
alarm
,
rushing
up
.
"
I
hope
not
,
"
said
George
,
rising
cautiously
and
looking
about
.
But
he
had
.
That
trout
lay
shattered
into
a
thousand
fragments
--
I
say
a
thousand
,
but
they
may
have
only
been
nine
hundred
.
I
did
not
count
them
We
thought
it
strange
and
unaccountable
that
a
stuffed
trout
should
break
up
into
little
pieces
like
that
.
And
so
it
would
have
been
strange
and
unaccountable
,
if
it
had
been
a
stuffed
trout
,
but
it
was
not
.
That
trout
was
plaster-of-Paris
.
We
left
Streatley
early
the
next
morning
,
and
pulled
up
to
Culham
,
and
slept
under
the
canvas
,
in
the
backwater
there
.
