52 DAYS IN DOVE DALE 



I do down here when I am not fishing. I 

 will tell you* 



Saturday was a lovely day, so I and my 

 daughter took a drive across country, and a 

 pleasant drive it was. Buoyant and light- 

 hearted we drove over hill and dale till we 

 came to " The Peacock " at Rowsley, hoping 

 there to take up our abode till Monday, and 

 leisurely explore the region round about. 



Quaint old " Peacock," the paradise of 

 anglers ! but we were forbidden to rest in thy 

 ancient chambers. 



"Full, quite full!" was the somewhat stern 

 reply to our modest inquiry. In truth, I 

 thought the good landlady regarded me with 

 some degree of suspicion ; my personal ap- 

 pearance, perhaps, was not quite up to the 

 aristocratic standard of " The Peacock." 



Until that moment it had not occurred to 

 me that my outer man was not attractive. 

 You will remember how my felt hat was 

 damaged, and rny coat and trousers had a 

 sort of moth-eaten appearance, from the 

 numerous little circular holes out of which I 

 had dug so many of my troublesome flies. I 

 thought I had given my old hat an air of 



