DAYS AT DRIFFIELD 141 



kind of well-known trout which is attacked by every 

 angler in turn and rises to nobody. However, he rose 

 to me at the first cast ; in my surprise I struck too 

 soon, and the Wickham, instead of taking firm hold, 

 just caused him to roll over indignantly, and so to 

 disappear. He was is, perhaps all of two and a half 

 pounds. Other fish were moving here and there in the 

 dam, but I could make nothing of them with any flies 

 I tried, large or small, so I left the spot and went on 

 to Sunderlandwick Bridge and the streamy water 

 above it. 



By now it was about mid-day, and the wind had 

 increased a good deal, while a bank of cloud on the 

 horizon seemed to presage rain. This, however, 

 seemed to suit the fly, for it began to come up as I 

 reached the bridge, above which two or three fish were 

 feeding well old hands I should judge them, and 

 acquainted with flies of many patterns. I left them in 

 their wisdom and went on. Fifty yards or so above 

 the stile there was a good fish feeding recklessly on the 

 pale olives as they came down, and to him I offered a 

 sort of ginger quill, the pattern of a good friend who 

 has views about pale watery duns and their imitation. 

 The fish took it nobly ; we ran downstream together, 

 and the net did its office just at the stile. This was a 

 picture of a trout short, thick, golden, and one pound 

 twelve ounces a real beauty, one of the keepers de- 

 clared on arriving just as it was on the bank. A few 

 yards higher up I got another one pound six ounces 

 and then, on the keeper saying affably that he must see 

 me catch just one more, I began to play the fool. Fish 

 after fish rose, fish after fish went down pricked and 



