CLEAR WATERS 



remember the effect of one of these creepy experiences 

 on a little Welsh boy, and how it operated to my 

 undoing. Now there is a grim little tarn in a lonely 

 spot beneath the precipice of one of the Arrans in the 

 neighbourhood of Bala lake. It is a four-mile walk 

 there over the hills, but worth the effort, not merely 

 for its striking situation but for the excellent trout, 

 running about three to the pound, which sometimes 

 rise well to the fly. On the occasion of this particular 

 visit to it, having been slightly injured by an accident, 

 I made interest with the village schoolmaster to supply 

 me {ultra vires, of course) with an urchin, as bearer of 

 my waders, brogues, basket, etc. And incidentally 

 I had always to make a considerable detour that 

 summer for a black bull who, as the old Latin saying 

 goes, had ' hay on his horns ' and made the mountains 

 echo with his minatory roars. My urchin had, of 

 course, no English, and what was passing in his mind 

 I could only surmise. His spirits were evidently 

 maintained throughout the morning by my fairly 

 frequent calls for the landing-net. But later on the 

 clouds came down upon the tarn, racing low in filmy 

 shrouds against the black precipices and blotting out 

 the world. The fish ceased to rise, but persevering 

 in hopes of better times I presently forgot all about 

 the boy, having no use for the net. When eventually 

 I looked around for him the wretched ' hachen ' was 

 nowhere to be seen, and I hunted the shores of that 

 now gloomy tarn filled with the most horrible fore- 

 bodings. The landing-net was there sure enough 

 lying on the bank. Could the brat be at the bottom 

 of the lake, for I hadn't seen him for an hour ? There 

 286 



