VII 

 A TRIBUTARY OF THE SEVERN 



THE Tern is only a little river. Yet it 

 must always be the little river. For it 

 is enthroned in memory as the wonder- 

 ful water into which a tiny tot in a 

 meadow near Pell Wall Hall, Market Drayton, 

 threw a buttercup, which was instantly seized by 

 a monster trout, a creature which bulked more 

 like a whale. And it was the still more wonder- 

 ful water which yielded an eager lad's first trout. 



The Tern ran within view of the old home 

 at Market Drayton, and at night the music of the 

 waterfall by the valley mill could be heard, bring- 

 ing its own tranquil message. Early on a 

 summer morning just after sunrise when all the 

 world is still an impulse to get up was rewarded 

 by the sight of the little river shining like a 

 multitude of diamonds ; for in those far-off days 

 just on the other side of the Newport-road bridge 

 was a reach of miniature, trout-haunted rapids. 

 These rapids have now disappeared, and here- 

 abouts the water flows evenly and quietly, never 

 forgetting that appointment at Atcham, near 



