A BROOK 57 



current, the sedge-reedlings calling, the moorhens and 

 water-rats, all gave an air of habitation. 



One morning, looking very gently over the parapet 

 of the bridge (down stream) into the shadowy depth 

 beneath, just as my eyes began to see the bottom, 

 something like a short thick dark stick drifted out 

 from the arch, somewhat sideways. Instead of pro- 

 ceeding with the current, it had hardly cleared the 

 arch when it took a position parallel to the flowing 

 water and brought up. It was thickest at the end 

 that faced the stream; at the other there was a slight 

 motion as if caused by the current against a flexible 

 membrane, as it sways a flag. Gazing down intently 

 into the shadow the colour of the sides of the fish 

 appeared at first not exactly uniform, and presently 

 these indistinct differences resolved themselves into 

 spots. It was a trout, perhaps a pound and a half in 

 weight. 



His position was at the side of the arch, out of the 

 rush of the current, and almost behind the pier, but 

 where he could see anything that came floating along 

 under the culvert. Immediately above him but not 

 over was the mass of weeds tangled in the dead branch. 

 Thus in the shadow of the bridge and in the darkness 

 under the weeds he might easily have escaped notice. 

 He was, too, extremely wary. The slightest motion 

 was enough to send him instantly under the arch; 

 his cover was but a foot distant, and a trout shoots 

 twelve inches in a fraction of time. 



The summer advanced, the hay was carted, and 

 the wheat ripened. Already here and there the 

 reapers had cut portions of the more forward corn. 

 As I sat from time to time under the aspen, within 

 hearing of the murmuring water, the thought did rise 



