50 THE TROUT ARE RISING 



mirth or to give expression to some humorous 

 fancy full of insight and point, the enjoyment is 

 the greater for the contrast. I remember, when 

 in Dumfriesshire, seeing a farmer driving a cow 

 out of his garden goodness only knows how 

 it had come into the garden and I said : 

 " You'll have to call her 4 Maud '." Immediately 

 he went one better. " I'll have to call her * to 

 order '," he responded. And in another shire 

 the good landlady at the inn capped all descrip- 

 tions of some bonnie brown trout which three 

 of us fishermen had just brought in. The beauties 

 made a goodly sight on the huge dish, and the 

 onlookers gave the rein to their adjectives, " How 

 beautiful!" "How pretty!" " What lovely trout !" 

 and so on. Then spake our hostess. " Oo, aye ! 

 Besides, they're so useful for food." Humour 

 begins early with the Scots. Witness the school- 

 boy who, asked to define " nothing," replied : 

 " It's just when you've held a man's horse for 

 him, and he says * Thank you '." But let me 

 get on to my narrative. 



A night spent at Langholm was rendered 

 interesting by a bit of fishing which I watched 

 from the town bridge, overlooking the Border 

 Esk, at the darkening. I was not fishing myself, 

 but had paused on the bridge as one always does. 

 Presently came two men, father and son. The 

 son had just returned from military service abroad, 

 and had settled down to work again in his native 

 place. The sea-trout began to rise. The father, 

 an old fisherman, was not going out that night ; 



