CHAPTER XXI 



A DAY ON TWEED 



THE long, long series of rainless weeks is 

 ended. A night of heavy rain brings us 

 to a morning calm and fresh, with just 

 the slightest drizzle that sways not from the vertical. 

 The air is warm, and we set out with greater hopes 

 than we have had for many days. Surely to-day 

 the flies will hatch and the trout rise as we would 

 have them. 



The sun-browned grass already is touched with 

 green, the crab-apple trees by the road-side have 

 shed a part of their too abundant crop, the trim 

 hedgerows have lost their powdering ; but we are 

 eager to be on the river, and much escapes our 

 notice. 



We strike the water beside a broad stream flowing 

 with gently ruffled surface over a bed of small 

 stones into a great still pool. It is little more than 

 knee-deep throughout, a splendid bit for a floating 

 fly, and we feel certain that many trout will have 

 come up from the depths to welcome the flies that 

 must arrive. With these we shall compete, and 

 sometimes not in vain. 



The shallowness of the stretch is itself a difficulty ; 

 a wildly waving rod will be seen by these trout 

 of extraordinary shyness, and at the first glimpse 



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