A LITTLE CHALK STREAM 4.7 



down the great field which slopes from the church 

 to the ford (on a very hot day you can bear to the 

 right and have the grateful shade of an avenue of 

 elms for most of the distance), to the last day in 

 September when I hastened uphill along the road 

 from the top of the water, not without misgivings as 

 to the time left for catching the last train. 



Near the ford, which is practically at the middle 

 of the water, is the choicest spot for luncheon that 

 Nature ever devised. Five big trees, chestnut, elm, 

 ash, oak, and beech, there combine to ward off the 

 sun, and then the stream, always in the shade, 

 babbles round three sharp corners with the impetu- 

 ous fuss of a mountain brook. With a brace in the 

 creel, or without it, an angler could never fail in that 

 spot of a divine content. Hard-boiled eggs, a crisp 

 lettuce, bread and butter, and a bottle of amber 

 ale a-cool in the water at his feet — what could 

 appetite want better in so " smiling a corner of the 

 world " ? 



And (let me but whisper it) if by lunch time the 

 creel is quite empty, and if a fish or two arc urgently 

 required for some kindly purpose, and if last night 

 the evening rise was all sound, sight and fury, 

 signifying nothing, and if — but the fisherman knows 

 these if's well enough to dispense with the list. 

 Granting the if's, there is the stream rippling along 

 under the boughs and over the gravel, as it had 



