WEATHER AND WIND 259 



been more like the proverbial Red Indian. A little 

 higher up is observed a tiny rise, evidently from a 

 dace. But, no, as it is repeated, there is a slight 

 disturbance below the dimple, which shows that 

 the fish's tail is a long way from its nose. Obviously 

 this is a trout, and a good one. 



Again there is a slow, stealthy descent into the 

 stream, and knee-deep the angler waits, hardly 

 daring to draw breath, for the rise to be repeated. 

 The spot where the fish lies is flecked with sunlight, 

 which finds its way through the interlacing twigs 

 of the bushes on the bank, and if there is a move- 

 ment one ought to be able to see — confound it all, 

 one can see, and the beast is but a small one after 

 all, barely three-quarters of a pound from the look 

 of his back. Never mind, after all this trouble, 

 have at him. The Welshman's button drops just 

 above, a gentle rise is followed by a slow strike, and — 

 by Jove, it is not a little one after all. The indig- 

 nant swirl shows that he is a fine fellow. Bushes 

 to left, roots of a stump to right, weeds above, and 

 bushes below, there is only one way of playing a 

 heavy trout on light gut here — with a light hand. 

 Whenever he gets near danger, ease the pressure; 

 whenever he wants his head coax him buck. It 

 takes time, but it secures a fish which, with the 

 least rough treatment, would bolt like a runaway 

 horse, and smash you all to pieces. At last the 



