A DAY ON TWEED 259 



they will seek safety in flight. A long line would 

 overcome the trouble only to introduce another, 

 the impossibility of effective striking ; an under- 

 hand cast will make great events probable. 



We note with satisfaction a belt of clear water 

 between the gravelly edge and the befouled stones 

 farther out ; the river has risen an inch or two in 

 answer to the rain, and that at least can do no harm, 

 while it may enliven the trout. In the absence of 

 any guide from the waters possibly we are too 

 impatient to look carefully for a sign we attach 

 a Black Midge to the tail of the cast, and a yard 

 farther up we affix a dropper, a Blue Hen Spider, 

 a tolerable imitation of several delicate yellow- 

 bodied duns, or, rather, their spinners, and a deadly 

 pattern it is on Tweed. Out we wade carefully 

 and quietly through the calm, casting and lengthen- 

 ing line until we come within reach of the rippling 

 water. 



As we search the far edge, more to ensure that 

 all parts of the apparatus are working smoothly 

 together than with hopes of response, we happen 

 to detect a break in the surface upstream. Without 

 hesitation we lay the cast across the spot ; the 

 trout rolls over the dropper ; the hook sinks home, 

 and the captive, with a lightning dart, shoots 

 straight past us to the pool, where we dare not 

 follow, as lower down the gravel is loose and treacher- 

 ous, sure to run away if we set foot upon it. More- 

 over, there are ledges of rock, whose exact location 

 we do not yet know ; there on one side we have 

 two or three inches of water over rock, and on the 

 other the awful blackness of great depth. 



We give the fish all the line it asks, freely at first, 



