THE WHITE HILLS. IO1 



flows by the house ; so, jointing my lightest rod, and 

 selecting my smallest flies, I was soon in readiness 

 for business. 



" Follow the stream down to the mill-pond, and 

 fish that," said Charlie Thompson, as I started out : 

 " you will find larger trout, and you may meet Mr. 

 Arthur and his friend ; they went out a little while 

 ago." So, without stopping to inquire who Mr. 

 Arthur might be, I directed my steps to the stream, 

 and " followed it to the mill-pond " some half a 

 mile below, now and then stopping for a cast, and 

 being rewarded by the capture of several youngsters 

 of about a finger's length, but losing more than I 

 was taking, owing to my flies being too large. 



Reaching the pond, I had rather better Tuck, and 

 took out several of nearly a quarter of a pound ; but 

 this was tame fishing after the glorious rises and 

 magnificent play of the older members of the fami- 

 ly with which I had been regaled. As the rain 

 increased, I reeled up, and started for home by the 

 road. Half way tc* the house I met two young 

 gentlemen in Scotch suits, their rods over their 

 shoulders, apparently oblivious of the rain which 

 was then coming down in torrents. Naturally sup- 

 posing this might be " Mr. Arthur and friend," I 

 saluted them, and put the usual question, " Well, 

 boys, what luck?" 



