io6 THE TROUT ARE RISING 



He would have been a good study for a " Picture 

 of a Happy Grayling Fisherman." 



"Put on a green insect ! " said he, briefly, in 

 a moment snatched from business, as it were. 



"Thank you," I said, "I will," and I did. 

 Hurrying on I came to a likely ford, established 

 myself at its tail where the deeper water was 

 beginning, and where a short line was not only 

 valuable but also imperative. And then I had an 

 hour of rare delight. Perhaps the sport which I 

 enjoyed, good though it was, was not the chief 

 part of my enjoyment. It was quite as much the 

 behaviour of the dry fly, the green insect, that 

 kept me rapt with attention and appreciation. 

 The fly sat the water, now like an imitation of a 

 greatly reduced hedgehog, now like a miniature 

 busby ! However absurd the two comparisons, 

 they are what that floating dry fly, that green insect, 

 put me in mind of at the time. The current was 

 rapid, and, as soon as the fly alighted on the 

 water, off it went ! I positively laughed with 

 enjoyment. Then all of a sudden a grayling 

 would glide up from the bottom like a ghost, 

 and maybe it was hooked maybe not. It 

 mattered little. Moreover, it would probably 

 come again. When in the humour the grayling 

 will rise several times to the same fly. It was 

 a busy time, and, when the rise was over, I 

 left the ford, still chuckling to myself. That 

 was a good day. The rise was not a long one, 

 but it was brisk while it lasted. We both got a 

 bag, the man from Stroud a bigger one than I. 



