1 66 THE TROUT ARE RISING 



home, on the continent, many pictures of New 

 Zealand waters and incidents, scenes in the South 

 Sea Islands it was the record of a mighty 

 traveller. Though I had seen comparatively 

 little of him the Major and his travels stayed in 

 my memory. 



Then, after the war, we met unexpectedly 

 again at a little hotel in Devonshire. I bless the 

 day. The memory of those two or three little 

 chats at Dulverton two years previously seemed 

 to have made us old friends that is one of the 

 charms of angling, if you please and all through 

 the season we fished much together, for chance 

 brought us together on other occasions. 



So long as he is by a river the Major is 

 happy. Now and again he would not fish, but 

 would come with me, and watch, and if he could 

 put his little New Zealand hatchet to good use 

 he was indeed a boy at school. Be it said, though, 

 that he never used it to do damage, only to repair 

 disaster. When he came as spectator, his com- 

 panionship was quite an education. It was never 

 superior, patronizing knowledge he threw at one. 

 Patronage is not pleasant ; indeed it is insuffer- 

 able. But good-humoured chaff, such as he gave 

 me, was both interesting and useful. I would 

 throw over a rising fish, and when it rose to my 

 fly I would strike maybe a fraction of a second 

 too late. The Major would remark : " Promising 

 style, just a trifle too late ; exactly three minutes, 

 twenty seconds too late. I timed you by my 

 watch ! " I gave him plenty of occasion for such 



