2 AN OPEN CREEL 



who had said that no man could catch fish in the little 

 river during the winter, because when earth is bound 

 in frost-chains fishes burrow into the mud, and are no 

 more seen. In those days my mind was by no means 

 clear upon this point, but disagreement seemed to be 

 expected of me, and I disagreed. More than that, 

 I borrowed a primitive sort of rod and line from the 

 principal scoffer, dug myself some worms, and went 

 down the hill to the river after breakfast. The banks 

 were hard with frost, and the edges of the stream were 

 lined with ice, but, not a little to my surprise, I had 

 some bites, and in a short time caught the three roach. 

 Then I returned, cold but satisfied, to find that the 

 fish were still alive when I got back to the house. So 

 they were turned into the pond before a company of 

 respectful onlookers. Maybe their descendants are 

 there yet if the pond still exists. 



The discovery of the old photograph and the memory 

 of the incident of that day have set old strings in 

 vibration, and thoughts of other ponds belonging to 

 a further past come up unbidden. Among them are 

 the ponds of Arden, the fair country in which I was 

 privileged, with a small number of other boys, to 

 imbibe the rudiments of education. We were a lucky 

 set of youngsters in many ways. Too few in most 

 years to make up an eleven at cricket or football, we 

 were allowed a great deal of liberty for other country 

 pursuits, and we used to cover miles every afternoon 

 in search of birds' eggs, butterflies, and other treasures, 

 or in following the hounds, which came within reach 

 several times every season. One thing only was not 

 regarded with favour by the authorities, and that was 



