186 AN OPEN CREEL 



played for a little, and lost. The fly hit itself against 

 the bridge several times in succession. After that a 

 really fine cast sent it right into the depths of the 

 bridge, whence proceeded the " plops " already men- 

 tioned. A " plop " louder than any followed, the 

 tightened line provoked a heavy plunge, and then the 

 fly came away. Of course, the frequent dashing 

 against the bridge had broken the barb. A new fly 

 was put on, and promptly lost in the chestnut-trees 

 behind. Pity began to be expressed on the faces of 

 the spectators. Interest was admissible, admiration 

 was tolerable and even grateful, but pity was too 

 much, and could only be avoided by flight. 



A little way below the bridge there used to be, 

 and doubtless still are, quite a number of big trout. 

 An annexe of the hotel gives upon the stream here, 

 and it was the custom for visitors to open a window 

 and throw pieces of bread on the waters. The fish 

 were on the look-out for this, and would at once hurry 

 upstream to partake of the feast. One cold day at 

 the beginning of April, I am sorry to own, I led that 

 excellent sportsman, Woodford, into error by reason 

 of this custom at any rate, he considers it error, and 

 even now blushes for the deed. Briefly, the matter 

 stood thus. There was a question as to whether the 

 bread -eaters would look at a fly a discussion, a 

 debate, a wrangle. Finally the point was put to the 

 test. He, complaining bitterly of the cold, stood knee- 

 deep in the water near the further bank, rod in hand ; 

 I was at the window holding a slice of bread, and full 

 of scientific zeal. 



The bread went down piece by piece, the trout came 



