SOME WILTSHIRE MEMORIES 



glass stretch. This struck me as a mere natural history 

 expedition, harmless enough in itself but with no 

 bearing at all on the business we were out for. So 

 off he went stealthily up the river bank for about a 

 stone's-throw, then suddenly stopped and beckoned 

 to me, whereupon I proceeded, also stealthily, towards 

 him. ' There 's one,' he said, ' just to the left of that 

 dark bit of weed,' pointing to a mark about thirty yards 

 away. * Don't you see him ? ' Now I should have 

 been no little huffed had I been told I couldn't see a fish 

 in the water as well as the average angler, but like the 

 latter I had never gone in for trout-stalking as an art, 

 and I had to confess I couldn't. He was a little im- 

 patient at this, so after a few seconds I basely dis- 

 sembled and pretended I could. ' Will you try him 

 or shall I ? ' I didn't at the moment know that I had 

 one of the best fishermen in Wiltshire at my elbow. 

 But if I had known him to be the worst, I should have 

 handed him over the job with pleasure. Hunting 

 up your fish before you caught them seemed utterly 

 subversive of every article of the angler's creed as I 

 till then had known it. Moreover the essay in that 

 shallow, transparent water, to say nothing of the 

 length of line required, seemed mere foolishness. I had 

 always fancied I could throw an ordinarily decent line, 

 and had followed in wet-fly fishing the ' fine and far 

 off ' method with assiduity and conviction. Un- 

 doubtedly I could lay out as long a one as is ever 

 requisite in quick waters or on a chalk stream with a 

 ripple of a wind, or again I could pitch one handily 

 between boughs or under roots — a good deal of 

 extra schooling in North American forest streams had 

 F 8i 



