CHAPTER XXV 



THE DRY-FLY FAILS 



IT had been a day of intense heat, unclouded sky, 

 and but an occasional feeble breath of wind ; 

 merely to move about was laborious, to fish 

 the loch with expectation demanded such faith as 

 is not possessed by even an angler. Absolutely 

 hopeless was the outlook ; not a trout would rise in 

 such a day, but the more generous evening was still 

 to come, and we waited patiently, contriving even 

 at times to become cheerful. 



The loch, on which we were privileged to fish, is 

 a small sheet, but as good as it is small. We had 

 been told that it held trout of excellent size and 

 quality and, in addition, an overwhelming supply 

 of weeds. The first glimpse of it, as we reached the 

 shores on a June evening, was sufficient to convince 

 us that in the latter respect report was very accurate, 

 while the conditions pointed to the impossibility of 

 being able to arrive at conclusions regarding the 

 trout. Still it was pleasant to be in such a place, 

 the little loch with its protecting belts of trees, its 

 little wooded islet, its bays studded with water- 

 lilies, its marshy headlands a mass of flowering 

 bog-bean, forming a beautiful picture on which the 

 eye rejoiced to rest. 



The water lay calm and still save where a swan 



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