54 DAYS STOLEN FOR SPORT 



return from a successful chase. I should have got 

 a smile had I been fishlcss, but there was extra pride 

 in look and speech emphasised by uplifted hands when 

 I laid my prize out, so I claim some credit for doing 

 all I could to look as little proud as possible. 



Trout cutlets, fried in bacon fat, made an appetising 

 dish, to which we all did justice. 



The walk to reach the old weir again, prolonged 

 by halts, was a perfect way to see the life of things 

 which had been hidden somewhat in the early morning 

 mist; nor was I alone. 



I praise the Frenchman, his remark was shrewd, 

 How sweet, how passing sweet is solitude; 

 But grant me still a friend in my retreat, 

 Whom I may whisper solitude is sweet. 



Nell could wield a rod or ride a horse in a dainty 

 way, and knew more of Nature's floral details than 

 I can ever do with my merely rough and ready love 

 for groups of these. 



The meadows, in the distance, appeared to wear 

 a cloak of gold that waved in the bustling wind as 

 if of molten metal, while near our feet we could see 

 a daisy waistcoat, with a clover bloom or tv/o, on 

 a cloth of green. The hedgerows that framed the 

 meadows were full of colour, commencing with the 

 ditches, where flowers fed by winter's floods grew 

 to heights they seemed qtiite proud of, and, arching 

 down from high up, branches of wild rose, full of 

 bloom, some white, some pink, made garlands nimierous 

 that gave finishing touches to make the picture perfect. 

 A medley of sweet scents from herb and bloom, not 

 yet free of the morning's dew, delayed us further, 

 and m.eanwhile the happy hum and buzz of little life 

 grew big and wondrous. There is a spell in the sound 

 of falhng water, and, as it came to us, lagging steps 

 were hastened by the magic of it until we stood to- 

 gether once again on the most sport-giving weir — 

 for trout — that I know of. 



