A LONDON TROUT. 77 



The navvy knew how to see through water. He told 

 the fisherman, and there was a stir of excitement, a 

 changing of hooks and bait. I could not stay to see 

 the result, but went on, fearing the worst. But he 

 did not succeed ; next day the wary trout was there 

 still, and the next, and the next. Either this 

 particular fisherman was not able to come again, or 

 was discouraged ; at any rate, he did not try again. 

 The fish escaped, doubtless more wary than ever. 



In the spring of the next year the trout was still 

 there, and up to the summer I used to go and glance 

 at him. This was the fourth season, and still he 

 was there; I took friends to look at this wonderful 

 fish, which defied all the loafers and poachers, and 

 above all, surrounded himself not only with the 

 shadow of the bridge, but threw a mental shadow 

 over the minds of passers-by, so that they never 

 thought of the possibility of such a thing as trout. 

 But one morning something happened. The brook 

 was dammed up on the sunny side of the bridge, and 

 the water let off by a side-hatch, that some accursed 

 main or pipe or other horror might be laid across the 

 bed of the stream somewhere far down. 



Above the bridge there was a brimming broad 

 brook, below it the flags lay on the mud, the weeds 

 drooped, and the channel was dry. It was dry up to 

 the beech tree. There, under the drooping boughs 

 of the beech, was a small pool of muddy water, 

 perhaps two yards long, and very narrow a stagnant 

 muddy pool, not more than three or four inches deep. 

 In this I saw the trout. In the shallow water, his 

 back came up to the surface (for his fins must have 



