A LONDON TROUT 67 



The navvy knew how to see through water. He told 

 the fisherman, and there was a stir of excitement, a 

 changing of hooks and bait. I could not stay to see 

 the result, but went on, fearing the worst. But he did 

 not succeed ; next day the wary trout was there still, and 

 the next, and the next. Either this particular fisherman 

 was not able to come again, or was discouraged ; at any 

 rate, he did not try again. The fish escaped, doubtless 

 more wary than ever. 



In the spring of the next year the trout was still 

 there, and up to the summer I used to go and glance 

 at him. This was the fourth season, and still he was 

 there; I took friends to look at this wonderful fish, 

 which defied all the loafers and poachers, and above 

 all, surrounded himself not only with the shadow of 

 the bridge, but threw a mental shadow over the minds 

 of passers-by, so that they never thought of the possi- 

 bility of such a thing as trout. But one morning some- 

 thing happened. The brook was dammed up on the 

 sunny side of the bridge, and the water let off by a 

 side-hatch, that some accursed main or pipe or other 

 horror might be laid across the bed of the stream some- 

 where far down. 



Above the bridge there was a brimming broad brook, 

 below it the flags lay on the mud, the weeds drooped, 

 and the channel was dry. It was dry up to the beech 

 tree. There, under the drooping boughs of the beech, 

 was a small pool of muddy water, perhaps two yards 

 long, and very narrow a stagnant muddy pool, not 

 more than three or four inches deep. In this I saw the 

 trout. In the shallow water, his back came up to the 

 surface (for his fins must have touched the mud some- 

 times) once it came above the surface, and his spots 

 showed as plain as if you had held him in your hand. 



