CHAPTER XXIII 



AMONG THE HILLS 



AGAIN we are beside the old familiar river. 

 We know every stone and corner, every 

 pool and stream, the haunts of the best 

 trout, the barren parts and the fruitful stretches. 

 There are places that we hurry past, fishing care- 

 lessly or missing altogether, but there are others 

 which we linger over, expecting something to 

 happen at every cast. 



We enjoy a first visit either to loch or river. 

 There is so much to discover, so much experi- 

 menting to find the killing fly ; the water is all to 

 learn, for it certainly has peculiarities of its own 

 which distinguish it from all others ; the trout, 

 too, may be large or small, bold or wary, quick 

 or slow in the rise, sullen or lively in the fight, 

 and a first day is never so successful as it might 

 be. 



We like none the less the well-known stream. 

 We know what to expect, though we may expect 

 what never comes. Should we fish up a stretch 

 without response we know that ahead lies a pool 

 that never fails ; it always is farther and farther 

 up, and if by the end of the day we have not reached 

 it, still hope has carried us ever onward, and the 

 pleasures of anticipation are probably the sweetest. 



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