156 THE TROUT ARE RISING 



fishing is a small hatchet, which he bought in 

 New Zealand. If you are fishing and get caught 

 up in a branch, a common misadventure, and if 

 the Major is handy, you will suddenly hear a 

 cheery voice singing out, " Don't you worry." 

 He is promptly alongside with his little hatchet, 

 and, with the persevering precision of a wood- 

 pecker, he strikes blow after blow at the offending 

 branch until down it comes, cast and flies all 

 saved. One evening on the Lid in Devonshire 

 he retrieved seven flies, including a cast, for a 

 friend. Two years before, in Somersetshire, he 

 spent the best part of a morning cutting down 

 obstructing branches, so that the fishing might be 

 easier for others. He was then doing but little 

 fishing himself as he was recovering from an 

 operation. We spent about two months together 

 in various parts of England and Scotland, and 

 much hearty laughter do I owe to him. 



The Major's humorous experiences and stories 

 are well worth hearing. One, I remember, related 

 to the town crier of a little Welsh town, who had 

 given out, in Welsh, that some farmer had lost 

 six sheep. He then proceeded to interpret it 

 into English. It ran something like this (would 

 that the type could reproduce tone and accent !) : 



" This is to give notice that Farmer has 



lost six sheeps ; not the sheeps that sails on the 

 seas, look you ! but the sheeps that you see 

 feeding on the grasses ! " 



The Major never seemed to monopolize the 

 company ; rather, the company monopolized him, 



