130 THE AULD 



barren moor a milestone dropped by 

 Time upon the road of history. 



When the bracken is uncurling in the 

 valley, and the daisies are sheeting the 

 highland pastures, an angler will often 

 approach from below. Standing on the 

 bridge, one may see his cast flashing like 

 gossamer above the scrubby willows 

 that grow among the stones in mid- 

 water. He stalks his cunning prey warily, 

 working up-stream. The huge rocks, 

 tumbled in utterest confusion by the 

 torrents of many winters, afford safe 

 hiding places for the trout, and the angler 

 can creep unseen between their ponder- 

 ous sides. 



At the bridge he ceases fishing, and 

 presently in the grateful shade 



" . . . . lies stretched out, 

 And eased of basket and of rod 

 Counts his day's spoil, the spotted trout." 



Ask him why he chooses that spot, ask 

 a dozen different anglers who fish that 



