CHAPTER XVI. 



A SEPTEMBER BRACE. 



ON September 21st, 190G, with only seven more 

 available days to finish an indifferent trout season, I 

 still had six days to fit in for expected sport on the 

 best portion of the Itchen, between Winchester and 

 Headbourne Worthy days reserved to the last, as 

 frequently good things are, not only by children, 

 but by many adults. Yet not altogether so in this 

 case, for all through the month a north-east down- 

 stream wind had prevailed, rough- ridging the very 

 much exposed reaches of the fishery, and discourag- 

 ing even an attempt to fish with the dry-fly on most 

 days. But, narrowed thus to a few last days, 

 Hobson's choice resulted, and the weather, whatever 

 it might be, had to be faced. Accordingly, this 

 morning at half -past ten I was kneeling watching 

 the surface by the side of the main river about a 

 hundred yards above the first fishing hut, which, like 

 Walton and Cotton's fishing house on the Dove, is 

 inscribed " Piscatoribus sacrum," and is a welcome 

 refuge in case of storm, and a convenient meeting 

 and luncheon place. I had already walked up about 



