Sabrina Fair. 7? 



The day opens with the soft haze so ominous of heat. 

 Mist is still rising from low-lying fields ; trailing cloud? 

 linger round the crest of the Wrekin. 



From the rude landing-stage yonder a party of fisher- 

 men are putting off in their punts. If the rod is use- 

 less there are other ways of catching fish, and these 

 men in their clumsy boats may contrive to net a 

 salmon or two when the oldest hand would throw his 

 flies in vain. But it is hard work at the best of times, 

 and this year has hardly been worth the candle that 

 is to say, the licence, and the net, and the worries of 

 the water-bailiff. 



The punts are worked against the stream until a 

 point is reached above the place where late last night 

 a salmon rose. The net is paid out. Each boat takes 

 an end, and the two then manoeuvre so as to sweep 

 the pool. 



In order to frighten the fish from getting past the 

 ends of the net, stones are thrown into the water, and 

 a great splashing made with an instrument called a 

 ' splanger ' a pole with a disc of leather at the end. 

 The net is drawn slowly into a shallow. 



It is often blank. Now and then a pike, or, better 

 still, a large trout is taken. Less frequently the 

 plunging corks betray to the eager eyes of the fisher- 

 men the presence of better game, and as the net comes 

 in a great gleam of silver proclaims that the king of 

 fish is entangled in the fatal meshes. 



To-day there are two of them. The old man in 



