DAYS AT DRIFFIELD 137 



floating weeds that fringed the dam. Over them I 

 tried many flies, and at last hooked one within an inch 

 of the scum with the finest drawn gut and a tiny sylph, 

 a grayling fly of Mr. Rolfs devising which is excellent 

 for smutting trout. The fish gave rare sport on the 

 light tackle, and got right under the scum and weeds 

 two or three times, but, being hooked well, was safely 

 landed. It differed from the first in being silvery, 

 with large brown spots. It was also a few ounces 

 heavier. The same fly hooked and lost another trout 

 just as the storm began with a few heavy drops of 

 rain. After that I withdrew discreetly, and watched a 

 deluge of rain from the keeper's parlour, while I had 

 an excellent tea and listened to the thunder. There 

 were two distinct storms in quick succession, and the 

 rain was tremendous for about an hour and a half. 



It stopped at about half-past five, and I started out 

 once more, to find the river decidedly coloured. At a 

 sharp corner in the main stream above the mill three 

 or four trout were rising well, and evidently in the 

 humour ; but they would not look at any of the winged 

 patterns I offered them. At last I put on a blue up- 

 right, one of my favourite evening flies, and hooked one 

 of the risers at the first cast. It fought like a mad 

 thing, put all the others down, and finally ended its 

 achievements by entering the net and getting out again 

 through a neglected hole in the corner. The hook did 

 not lose its hold, fortunately, and after a second fight, 

 conducted with difficulty on my part through the net, I 

 won the victory. But no man ever deserved a golden 

 pounder less. During the next two hours I worked up- 

 stream, but scarcely saw a fish rise at all, and about 



