132 DAYS STOLEN FOR SPORT 



a choice of movement, for the bob of the dropper is 

 quite unlike and sometimes far more taking than 

 the movements of the fly that swims, work it as life- 

 like as you may. It was so on this occasion. 



Very short was the afternoon, but the sport was 

 glorious while it lasted. It seemed, for a time, as if 

 every fish was making most determined efforts to 

 secure a share of the floating delicacies. At the lip 

 of every pool, just where the water flows over in a 

 quickening movement to meet the shallows, a shoal 

 of fish were making rings that crossed each other, 

 while not infrequently two fish would rise at the same 

 fly. How many we hooked I cannot say, as the 

 majority, indeed there were few exceptions, were 

 much less than a pound and a half and were returned ; 

 it was only now and then we got a fish worth a place 

 amongst the morning captures. The fishes' boister- 

 ous mood had the most sudden ending. Just as the 

 colourings of the setting sun were thrown upon the 

 water the wind died away, the river brought with 

 it a smoky mist and the rise of flies and fish was 

 over. 



The movements of my son in answer to my whist- 

 ling looked in the distance like the antics of a funny 

 shadow, but his long legs quickly brought him into 

 clearer sight, landing-net^in hand, and, when he saw 

 me packing, he exclaimed : " Dash it, dad, I thought 

 you had another monster on." 



The homeward pipe was lighted, traps were 

 shouldered and the hill was faced, from the top of 

 which we saw again, as in the morning, the valley 

 filled with mist. 



