THE WELSH BORDERLAND 



as I expected, the local pattern of almost sea-trout 

 size. Better still, the keeper was with him, and this 

 our second interview was interesting ! So when I 

 met my young friend again I was less astonished than 

 I should otherwise have been to find that he, too, 

 was calling on all his gods to show cause why the 

 fish on such a propitious-looking day had only offered 

 up a single victim to his efforts. I felt emboldened 

 now to teU him I was perfectly certain what the trouble 

 was, and after lunch persuaded him — and, indeed, the 

 thing being too obvious, he needed little inducement — 

 to put up one of my orange duns, for I think I had 

 killed nearly all my fish on it. To shorten Part i. 

 of the story, for there is a sequel, the trout continued, 

 if with slightly modified eagerness, to take the orange 

 dun through the afternoon, during which we had 

 almost exactly the same number of fish to our respec- 

 tive credits, which was as it should be. 



I have hinted above at a sequel. For a day or two 

 afterwards it was suggested that I should fish an 

 obscure but good little stream, which flows down 

 under Wenlock Edge to the Onny. There was no 

 road to it, so we had to walk across country, and my 

 host himself, the son being otherwise engaged, though 

 a mighty Nimrod, not at all a keen fisherman, kindly 

 offered to go with me. For the owner was, I think, 

 a pernickety customer, who would just concede an 

 occasional day to a neighbour, but would have thrown 

 bricks, unhesitatingly, at a neighbour's guest un- 

 accompanied. It was a very bushy, sequestered little 

 stream, unnamed on the map, but held quite nice 

 trout, and I should imagine was rarely fished. My 



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