DAYS STOLEN FOR SPORT 59 



Nell could wield a rod or ride a horse in a dainty 

 way and knew more of Nature's floral details than 

 I can ever do with my merely rough and ready love 

 for groups of these. 



The meadows, in the distance, appeared to wear 

 a cloak of gold that waved in the bustling wind as 

 if of molten metal, while near our feet we could see 

 a daisy waistcoat, with a clover bloom or two, on a 

 cloth of green. The hedgerows that framed the 

 meadows were full of colour, commencing with the 

 ditches, where flowers fed by winter's floods grew 

 to heights they seemed quite proud of, and, arching 

 down from high up, branches of wild rose, full 

 of bloom, some white, some pink, made garlands 

 numerous that gave finishing touches to make the 

 picture perfect. A medley of sweet scents from 

 herb and bloom, not yet free of the morning's dew, 

 delayed us further and, meanwhile, the happy hum 

 and buzz of little life grew big and wondrous. 

 There is a spell in the sound of falling water and, 

 as it came to us, lagging steps were hastened by 

 the magic of it until we stood together once again 

 on the most sport-giving weir for trout that I 

 know of. 



A day will often pass without a boat's going 

 through the lock, and it may happen you will have 

 no chance of speech other than with your companion 

 to this spot. He, or she, and you must sit close 

 together for the fishing if either of you have aught 

 to say, as the best spot is where the fall of tumbling 

 water makes most noise ; the speaking lips must 

 almost touch the attentive ear. Yet, strange to 

 say, above or within the roar of the seething waters 

 there comes, quite distinct, the whispered song of 



